endeance 

-**»v 

Is  Mine 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

JAMES  J.  MC  BRIDE 


:Up,  Guards,  and  at  them  !  " 


VENGEANCE 
IS    MINE 

By    ANDREW     BALFOUR 

AUTHOR  OF  "BY    STROKE  OF  SWORD,"    "TO  ARMS." 


Illustrations  by  JOHN    HENDERSON    BETTS, 
W.  T.  SMITH,  AND  R.  CATON  WOODVILLE 


New    York    :    NEW     AMSTERDAM 
BOOK       COMPANY    :    M  C  M. 


Copyright,  1900 

BY 
NEW  AMSTERDAM   EOOS  COMPANY 


PR 


TO 

G.  C. 

IN    MEMORY    OF    MANY    A    DAY    ON    MOOR 
AND    LOCH    IN    <OOR    AIN    COUNTRIE* 


712501 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  I. 
THE  HOUSE  OF  DARROCH 

CHA  PTHR 

I.  THE  GATHERING  I 

II.  THE  MERCHANTMAN-  II 

III.  THE  CORPSE  -  ig 

IV.  THE  CASTAWAY              -  31 
V.  THE  CONSPIRATORS    •  40 

VI.   A   FAIR  YANKEE  •  -  '51 

VII.   THE  RIVALS      •  63 

VIII.   FACE  TO  FAoiS               •  72 

BOOK  II. 
THE    TRIAL 

I.   FROM   LUGGER  TO  FRIGATE  -  90 

II.  AN  ORDER  TO   KEEL-HAUL    -  IOI 

III.  YARD-ARM  TO  YARD-ARM        -  115 

IV.  THE   EXILE                         -                 -  129 
V.   CRASPINAT                                                                                        -      144 

VI.   THE   MYSTERY  -      148 


viii  CONTENTS 

BOOK  III. 

REVENGE 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    FROM   PERIL  TO   PERIL  -               -               -      l6l 

II.  THE  GASCON    -  -                                      17^ 

III.  THE  ESCAPE     -               •  •               •                               -      187 

iv.  '  VIVE  L'EMPEREUR  !'  208 

V.   THE  MARCH     -  ...      221 

VI.  THE  ASSASSINS              -  -      233 

VII.  THE  AUDIENCE             -  -     244 

VIII.  A  NIGHT  OF  RECKONING  -                                               -      258 

IX.   IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE  «               •                      277 

X.   AFTER  MANY  DAYS  •               »               •                     3°° 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

FRONTISPIECE  (in  colors)  "Up,  Guards,  and  At  Them  !" 
He  looked  quickly  up  .          .          .          .          .82 

"What!"  shouted  Calthrop,  leaning  across  the  table     .      139 
"Soldiers  of  the  Fifth,"  he  exclaims,  "behold  me!"  .     226 

"This,  Sir,"  said  he, "is  not  a  duel;  it  is  an  appeal 

to  God"     ......     274 


VENGEANCE   IS  MINE 

BOOK  I. 

THE  HOUSE  OF  DARROCH 
CHAPTER  I. 

THE     GATHERING 

IT  was  the  wildest  storm  that  had  visited  the  West 
Coast  for  many  a  year.  It  had  come  with  the 
coming  of  night,  and  had  increased  in  violence 
as  the  darkness  fell.  There  was  a  heavy  sea  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Whipple  water,  but  the  fishermen  of 
Shiachan  were  weather-wise,  and  their  skiffs  lay 
safely  within  the  bar,  but  a  few  yards  from  the  tiny 
hamlet. 

Round  the  old  house  of  Darroch  the  wind  yelled 
and  whistled  like  a  fiend  freed  from  bondage,  and 
exulting  madly  in  his  liberty,  and  within,  the  lean 
recluse  sat  huddled  over  his  fire  of  peat,  and  shivered 
in  his  great  red-padded  chair. 

This  night  recalled  just  such  another  to  Ian  Darroch 
— the  night  when  he  had  tricked  the  red-coats,  and 
won  back  his  inheritance.  Since  then  he  had  kept  it 
secure,  at  first  by  defiance,  and  then  because  the  law 
had  wearied  of  him  and  his  ways,  had  forgotten  him, 
and  left  him  in  peace.  He  was  far  from  the  bustling 
world  in  this  lone  place  of  sea  and  mountain-land, 


2  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

but  he  was  content — indeed,  his  life  had  been  varied 
enough  to  make  amends  for  any  dulness  and  monotony 
at  its  fag-end.  Proscribed  and  hunted  after  the  '45, 
he  had  been  captured  and  shipped  to  the  plantations. 
He  had  known  the  lash  in  Barbadoes,  and  learned 
to  hate  the  English  with  an  undying  hate ;  but  he 
had  taken  his  revenge.  For  many  a  year  after  his 
return  his  name  was  spoken  of  with  awe  amongst  the 
islands  and  in  every  seaward  parish  of  the  adjacent 
mainland.  It  was  an  open  secret  that  he  had  been 
in  league  with  the  wild  wreckers  of  Pitlochie,  the 
lawless  men  of  the  Black  Glen,  and  it  was  whispered 
that  even  now  he  had  dealings  with  their  descend- 
ants, who  were  ever  ready  to  take  charge  of  a  cargo 
when  the  Solway  was  watched  too  closely,  who  had 
many  a  still  hidden  away  amongst  the  corries  and 
the  heather,  and  who  were  none  too  anxious  to  save 
the  crew  of  a  vessel  driven  from  her  course  to  meet 
her  fate  on  the  wild  and  barren  coast  which  as  cliff 
and  reef  bade  defiance  to  the  ocean's  might. 

But  Ian  Darroch  was  nearing  his  end.  Hard  and 
bony  he  had  been  all  his  life,  and  hard  and  bony  he 
was  in  his  senility. 

A  huge  hound,  gaunt  and  shaggy  as  his  master, 
lay  at  his  feet,  and  whimpered  uneasily  as  the  gale's 
eerie  voice  sang  a  storm-song  about  the  gables  and 
the  sleet  rattled  on  the  coarse  window-panes. 

The  old  Jacobite  was  a  mere  wreck  of  his  former 
self,  thin  and  stooping,  watery-eyed,  with  bleared 
vision  and  trembling  limbs,  but  still  fierce  and  bitter 
in  temper,  and  caring  for  nothing  on  earth  but  the 
great  dog  Ossian  and  the  younger  of  his  two  grand- 
sons. They  were  all  the  kith  and  kin  left  to  him, 
and  the  elder  he  hated  as  being  the  child  of  his  son 
by  the  latter's  first  wife,  an  Englishwoman.  He  had 
driven  the  first  Neil  Darroch  from  his  home  on 
account  of  this  marriage,  and  had  never  seen  his 
face  again,  but  in  his  old  age  he  had  been  fain  to 
welcome  the  second  Neil,  despite  the  fact  that  the 


THE  GATHERING  3 

boy's  mother  was  a  Frenchwoman,  one  of  that 
nation  who  had  betrayed  the  Stuart  cause,  and 
whom  he  had  cursed  as  faithless  and  corrupt.  He 
had  let  the  lad  run  wild,  and  rilled  his  head  with 
strange  ideas  foreign  to  the  times,  but  Ian  Darroch 
lived  in  the  past,  and  would  have  it  that  things  were 
as  they  had  been  when  the  White  Rose  blossomed  for 
the  last  time.  A  curious  whim  took  possession  of 
him  when  he  realized  that  the  curly-headed  little 
fellow  in  a  kilt  was  little  no  longer,  had  attained 
years  of  discretion,  and  was  growing  restless  and  dis- 
satisfied with  his  surroundings.  He  resolved  that 
Neil  Darroch  should  study  the  law  with  which  he 
had  been  at  enmity  all  his  life.  He  would  make 
others  suffer  as  he  had  suffered,  make  his  younger 
grandson  an  instrument  to  bully  and  browbeat  hap- 
less prisoners — a  judge  with  the  power  of  life  and 
death,  who  might  fine  and  imprison  and  hang  with- 
out mercy,  and  make  the  name  of  Darroch  a  terror 
on  the  bench. 

To  this  end  he  had  parted  with  him,  and  the  slow 
years  had  passed  till  now  both  his  grandsons  had 
been  summoned  to  see  him  die.  For  the  nonce, 
however,  he  had  cheated  the  devil,  and  was  able  to 
leave  his  bed  ;  but  he  was  very  lonely  that  night — 
sick  and  lonely.  Strange  visions  framed  themselves 
in  the  glowing  embers.  He  saw  faces  of  those  long 
dead,  gallant  men  who  had  taken  pistol  and  clay- 
more for  the  Prince.  He  saw  again  the  slave-gangs 
and  the  long  green  stretches  of  the  cane-fields  under 
the  fierce  light  of  a  tropic  sun.  He  had  been  young 
then,  hot-tempered  and  proud,  but  full  of  a  yearning 
for  home,  for  the  kindly  hills  and  the  sound  of  the 
western  surges  as  they  beat  monotonously  on  the 
Croban  Point  and  the  curving  sands  of  the  Bay  of 
Shiachan.  He  had  got  his  chance  at  last,  and  he 
had  taken  it  and  come  up  from  the  sea  as  an  avenger 
of  blood.  This  had  been  the  great  deed  of  his  life, 
and  the  old  man  rarely  conjured  up  his  later  years ; 
i — 2 


4  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

his  dealings  with  the  smugglers,  his  marriage,  his 
wife's  death,  his  bitter  quarrel  with  his  only  son — all 
these  he  had  forgotten,  and  his  thoughts  were  away 
back  to  the  wild  night  when  he  had  seized  Darroch 
House,  and  won  a  name  for  himself  in  every  seaward 
parish.  His  mouth  twitched,  and  he  muttered  and 
mumbled  as  memory  after  memory  crowded  on  his 
feeble  brain,  as  he  planned  and  plotted  once  again, 
and  led  the  way  from  the  sea-caves  by  the  light  of 
the  pine  torches.  It  all  came  back  to  him  as  it  had 
so  often  done,  and  then  the  vision  passed,  and  left 
him  wearied,  but  content ;  and  so,  spreading  out  his 
lean  hands,  all  veins  and  knuckles,  before  the  peat 
blaze,  he  smiled  to  himself,  and,  smiling,  dropped 
into  a  doze. 

Whatever  else  Ian  Darroch  might  be,  he  was  in 
keeping  with  his  surroundings.  The  same  could  not 
be  said  of  the  three  men  who  occupied  the  next  room, 
and  sat  in  silence  listening  to  the  sough  of  the  wind 
without  and  its  fitful  roaring  in  the  wide  chimney,  up 
which  leaped  the  flames  of  a  huge  fire  of  wood.  They 
were  seated  round  the  hearth  of  what  out  of  courtesy 
was  called  the  hall,  a  long,  narrow  chamber  panelled 
in  black  oak,  but  bare  and  comfortless,  with  no 
claims  to  justify  its  high-sounding  name  save  a 
venerable  appearance  and  a  fine  arching  fireplace  of 
red  and  white  stone.  The  most  remarkable  of  the 
three  was  a  man  well  past  the  middle  age,  whose 
thick  hair,  the  colour  of  bleached  seaweed,  was 
gathered  up  into  a  queue,  and  fastened  by  a  bow  of 
faded  yellow  ribbon.  His  features  were  finely  cut, 
his  whole  bearing  distinguished  at  first  sight,  but  a 
closer  inspection  revealed  the  fact  that  something 
was  lacking  in  his  face.  His  expression  was  pleasant, 
his  dark  eyes  benevolent,  but  his  thin  lips  were 
tremulous,  his  chin  weak.  He  sat  very  stiffly  on  a 
straight-backed  chair,  and  kept  constantly  smiling, 
as  though  well  satisfied,  and  nodding  aimlessly  at  the 
glow  in  front  of  him.  His  coat,  which  had  originally 


THE  GATHERING  5 

been  of  a  good  green  cloth,  was  shabby  in  the 
extreme,  his  knee-breeches  frayed  and  shiny,  while 
his  black  silk  stockings  had  been  darned  in  man}' 
places  with  a  coarse  purple  wool,  which  made  his 
spidery  shanks  look  as  if  covered  with  small  nodosi- 
ties or  warts.  A  muffler  round  his  neck,  a  shirt  of 
doubtful  linen,  and  a  pair  of  carpet  slippers  of  a 
gorgeous  pattern  completed  a  costume  at  once 
pathetic  and  ridiculous.  And  yet  its  owner  had  once 
been  a  man  of  fashion,  a  leader  of  the  mode  in  a  city 
where  fashion  is  fashioned,  so  to  speak. 

Monsieur  Deschamps  had  been  born  and  bred  a 
Parisian,  one  of  an  old  Huguenot  family ;  but,  un- 
fortunately for  himself,  his  connections  were  aristo- 
cratic and  his  ideas  conservative.  He  had  by  a 
marvellous  series  of  escapes  saved  his  neck  at  the 
time  of  the  Terror,  but  only  at  the  expense  of  his 
reason.  He  would  never  again  be  the  keen  and 
alert  young  dandy  who  had  practised  bows  and  soft 
speeches,  and  been  always  ready  to  take  up  an  affair 
of  honour,  whatever  the  weapon,  knowing  himself  to 
be  equally  expert  with  pistol  and  small  sword.  He 
would  now  in  all  probability  continue  as  he  had  been 
for  years,  a  very  polite  old  gentleman,  eccentric  in 
his  dress  and  manners,  but  perfectly  harmless  and 
extremely  contented  with  his  lot. 

It  had  been  no  hardship  for  him  to  accompany  his 
only  sister,  wife  and  then  widow  of  a  British  naval 
officer,  to  this  outlandish  place  on  the  Scottish  West 
Coast.  He  imagined  it  an  excellent  change  of  air, 
and  peopled  the  lonely  spot  with  visionary  beings 
whose  conversation  was  much  to  his  liking,  in  whom 
he  confided,  and  with  whom  he  shared  many  a  secret. 
The  gentle  Frenchwoman  soon  drooped  and  died, 
scared  out  of  her  life,  so  said  report,  by  Ian  Darroch's 
grimness  and  ferocity  ;  but  there  remained  the  child, 
and  Monsieur  Deschamps  told  him  as  many  tales  as 
did  the  old  Jacobite,  and  divided  Neil's  affections 
with  his  grandfather. 


6  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

He  was  if  anything  a  little  elated,  for  his  protege* 
had  returned  after  a  long  absence,  and  he  had  not 
yet  detected  any  remarkable  change  in  him.  They 
would  renew  their  walks,  and  he  would  no  longer 
have  the  old  housekeeper  as  his  sole  society.  The 
woman  was  well  enough,  but  no  companion  ;  while 
there  never  had  been  the  least  cordiality  in  the  rela- 
tions of  Charles  Deschamps  and  Ian  Darroch.  So 
the  former,  like  the  latter,  sat  quietly,  his  face 
wrinkling  with  complacent  smiles  all  on  account  of 
the  young  man  who  was  seated  on  his  right,  and 
who  little  imagined  what  awaited  him  in  the  near 
future. 

Neil  Darroch,  as  a  man,  was  very  different  from 
what  he  had  been  as  a  boy,  at  least,  to  the  casual 
observer.  In  the  days  when  he  had  lived  a  half- 
savage  existence,  save  for  the  gentle  restraint  of  his 
uncle,  he  had  been  a  creature  of  moods,  but  for  the 
most  part  a  dreamy,  sensitive  lad,  whose  surround- 
ings had  done  much  to  shape  his  character.  The 
loneliness  and  grandeur  of  the  spot  appealed  to  his 
imagination.  The  heather-clad  hills,  purple-breasted 
in  autumn,  crowned  by  ridges  of  black  peat-hagg,  and 
gashed  by  birch  and  rowan-lined  gullies,  the  home 
of  the  wily  blackcock  and  the  grey  hen,  he  regarded 
as  emblems  of  his  country  and  his  people. 

He  had  waded  among  the  long  green  reeds  and 
scared  the  teal  and  mallard  from  their  nests.  He 
had  wandered  by  the  cold,  bleak  shore  and  watched 
the  wave-ripples  spreading  out  upon  the  firm  yellow 
sand  and  curling  round  the  lug-worms'  casts.  He 
had  heard  the  cry  of  the  snowy  owl  as  it  hooted  in 
the  coppices  of  Darroch,  and  was  answered  by  the 
harsh  note  of  the  night-fishing  heron.  He  knew  the 
long  coast-line  from  the  rocky  Croban  Point  in  the 
south,  past  the  wide  bay  of  Shiachan  to  the  long  line 
of  northern  cliffs,  cave-pierced,  high  and  beetling,  a 
coast-line  fringed  with  floating  wrack  and  the  broken 
edge  of  the  ceaseless  ocean  swell. 


THE  GATHERING  7 

The  spirit  of  the  place  had  entered  into  him,  and 
many  a  time  he  had  been  stirred  to  his  inmost  depths 
by  the  sound  of  the  wailing  pipes  in  Pitlochie,  carried 
by  the  hill  air  down  to  Darroch,  the  plaintive  rise 
and  fall  mingling  with  the  rustle  of  the  larch  boughs 
and  the  whispering  voice  of  night. 

Little  did  he  know  how  it  was  to  influence  him  in 
after  life,  but  with  such  a  nature,  with  his  grand- 
father's wild  tales  ringing  in  his  ears  of  nights,  it 
was  no  wonder  that  Neil  Darroch  had  grown  up  a 
violent  Jacobite  and  passionately  attached  to  the 
dreary  house  which  was  his  home.  And  yet,  as  was 
but  natural,  the  time  had  come  when  he  longed  to 
quit  it,  and  he  had  been  ready  enough  to  do  Ian 
Darroch's  bidding,  and  go  to  Edinburgh  to  study 
law.  His  only  grief  had  been  leaving  the  stately  old 
Frenchman,  who  had  done  his  best  to  make  a 
scholar  of  the  untutored  and  ignorant  youth,  whom 
he  had  crammed  with  facts  regarding  the  history  of 
his  mother's  country  and  wearied  with  his  quaint 
maxims  and  confused  and  rambling  stories  on  all 
kinds  of  odd  subjects. 

Never,  perhaps,  did  a  youth  start  upon  his  city  life 
more  handicapped  than  did  Neil  Darroch.  Not 
that  money  was  altogether  lacking:  his  allowance 
was  small  indeed,  but  enough  to  keep  together 
the  body  and  soul  of  a  frugal  law  clerk.  It  was  in 
knowledge  of  the  world  and  its  crooked  ways  that 
Neil  was  so  woefully  deficient.  He  had  scarcely  a 
conception  of  what  he  was  about  to  face,  his  ideas 
being  taken  from  his  grandfather's  tales  of  a  vanished 
past  and  his  uncle's  hazy  and  exaggerated  accounts 
of  a  society  which  had  been  swept  away  and  scattered 
over  every  land.  He  was  a  man  in  body — ay,  and 
in  brain  power — but  in  experience  a  mere  babe. 

Bitterly  had  he  paid  for  his  innocence.  In  those 
days  the  Scottish  capital  was  none  too  virtuous.  Its 
lower  classes  were  rough  and  dissolute,  its  upper  too 
often  drunken  and  coarse.  It  was  a  bad  school  for 


8  VENGEANCE  IS'MINE 

a  raw  lad  with  the  evil  blood  of  an  Ian  Darroch  in 
him. 

At  first,  bewildered  and  amazed,  he  had  held  aloof, 
shy  and  retiring;  then,  gaining  confidence  and 
ill-advisers,  he  had  gone  gaily  on  the  road  to  ruin, 
but  he  stopped  in  time.  He  himself  could  not  have 
told  what  it  was  that  arrested  his  erring  steps,  but 
the  change  was  sudden.  He  commenced  to  work  in 
dead  earnest ;  he  shunned  his  late  companions,  but 
made  no  other  friends.  He  crept  back  into  the  shell 
of  reserve  from  which  he  had  emerged,  but  he  was 
no  longer  in  danger.  He  had  gained  knowledge, 
which  to  some  is  power,  to  some  salvation,  to  many 
ruin.  To  Neil  Darroch,  destined  for  the  law,  it 
might  prove  advantageous,  but  it  affected  him  un- 
pleasantly. Lonely,  self-conscious,  and  with  a  pride 
which  was  not  conceit,  he  gradually  developed  into  a 
peculiar  sort  of  man.  He  became  that  strange  but 
interesting  type,  the  youthful  cynic,  and  cultivated 
tricks  of  speech  and  gestures  which  were  amusing  to 
others,  who  did  not  guess  that  they  were  assumed  to 
hide  a  nervous  temperament. 

He  seemed  all  at  once  to  have  grown  old ;  he 
acquired  a  slight  stoop,  and  fondly  imagined  him- 
self a  character.  There  were  many  such  in  his 
profession,  but  they  were  elderly  men,  who  had 
earned  a  right  to  be  eccentric  if  they  chose,  and  by 
the  time  Neil  Darroch  had  worked  his  way  into  a 
small  practice  at  the  Bar,  he  found  himself  no 
favourite  with  his  contemporaries.  But  they  could 
not  deny  his  talents.  So  caustic  was  his  tongue, 
that  he  earned  for  himself  the  name  of  '  Young 
Colocynth.' 

Men  predicted  a  future  for  him,  but  he  shocked 
several  who  might  have  aided  him  by  his  views  on 
social  and  religious  questions.  He  professed  an 
ardent  admiration  for  the  genius  which  had  brought 
France  out  of  chaos,  and  placed  her  at  the  head  of 
th*  civilized  world  ;  and  yet  he  kept  his  semi-French 


THE  GATHERING  9 

origin  a  close  secret.  He  had  clever,  if  somewhat 
shallow,  views  about  most  of  the  pressing  questions 
of  the  day,  and  when  in  the  humour  could  argue 
fluently  and  well. 

As  the  years  passed  he  almost  forgot  the  wild, 
outlandish  place  which  was  his  home,  where  two 
old  men,  the  very  opposites  of  each  other,  yearned 
for  a  sight  of  the  quiet,  affectionate  lad  who  had 
brightened  their  lives,  but  would  not  beg  his  return 
— the  one  because  he  was  too  proud,  the  other 
because  he  feared  to  injure  his  nephew's  chances 
of  success.  Neil  wrote  short  letters,  and  in  return 
received  sheets  of  underlined  words  ending  in  queer 
flourishes  from  Monsieur  Deschamps,  and  curt  notes 
from  the  Glasgow  firm  who  were  Ian  Darroch's 
legal  advisers ;  but  it  never  occurred  to  him  that 
his  appearance  at  Shiachan  would  be  welcome. 

One  day,  however,  a  message  had  come,  and 
with  something  akin  to  remorse  the  cut-and-dry 
advocate  had  started  by  coach  from  the  White 
Hart  in  the  Grassmarket,  leaving  his  clients  to  fend 
for  themselves.  And  now  he  was  back  in  the  hall 
again,  and  realizing  what  a  totally  different  being 
he  had  become  since  the  smack  from  Portroy,  the 
nearest  township,  had  borne  him  off  to  make  his 
mark,  and  become  the  hanging  judge  of  his  grand- 
father's lurid  imagination. 

A  tall,  thin  man,  but  possessed  of  the  wiry 
strength  which  goes  further  than  mass  and  weight, 
his  face  distinctly  handsome,  his  complexion  dark, 
his  expression  dignified,  he  fidgets  with  a  quizz- 
ing glass,  dangling  by  a  broad  riband,  and  studies 
the  face  of  his  unknown  step-brother  Geoffrey. 

Neil  Darroch  had  developed  into  a  mixture  of 
his  grandfather  and  his  uncle,  and  the  result  was 
curiously  like  a  certain  class  of  Englishman,  though 
this  he  himself  would  have  been  the  first  to  deny 
and  repudiate ;  for  under  all  his  cloak  of  cold  reserve 
there  still  lay  those  fixed  beliefs  which  had  been 


io  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

instilled  into  him  from  infancy,  while  the  wild  blood 
of  the  clan  Darroch  coursed  hotly  through  his  veins. 

Geoffrey  Darroch  was  no  more  the  kind  of  man 
one  would  expect  to  meet  in  such  a  place  than  were 
his  companions.  He  had  inherited  money  from 
his  mother,  and  put  it  to  a  bad  use.  An  English- 
man to  all  intents  and  purposes — he  was  a  Londoner 
of  the  time  of  the  Regency — a  man  of  fashion,  with 
disreputable  habits  and  an  engaging  face  and  figure, 
broad-shouldered,  inclined  to  stoutness,  full  of  a 
low  cunning  and  greedy  of  gain,  his  was  not  a 
pleasant  record.  '  A  handsome  blackguard  '  would 
have  summed  him  up  concisely  and  fitly,  though  it 
must  be  confessed  his  faults  were  largely  those  of 
heredity  and  environment.  The  wild  strain  was  in 
him  also,  and  pleasure  ready  at  his  hand,  while 
from  his  mother's  side  had  come  good  looks  and  a 
gouty  constitution.  He  had  never  been  taught  to 
curb  his  passions;  he  was  easy-going  as  long  as 
things  went  well  with  him,  but  his  character  was 
that  dangerous  combination  of  weakness  and 
tendency  to  vice  which  has  brought  many  a  man 
to  the  gallows.  What  had  brought  him  to  Darroch 
House  was  the  fact  that  he  had  made  his  own  haunts 
a  little  too  hot  for  himself,  and  considered  discretion 
the  better  part  of  valour. 

He  was  the  heir  to  an  estate  he  had  never  seen 
till  the  day  before  our  tale  begins,  and  with  which 
he  was  already  disgusted  ;  but  his  circumstances 
just  then  were  embarrassed,  and  he  had  hoped, 
knowing  nothing  of  the  place,  that  there  was  some- 
thing to  be  got  out  of  it ;  so  that  now  he  made  one 
of  the  three  men  who  hearkened  to  the  turmoil  of 
the  western  gale,  and  caught  every  now  and  then 
the  harsh,  hacking  cough  of  the  lean  recluse  whose 
near  approach  to  death  had  thrown  them  together. 

And  out  upon  the  black  waste  of  waters  staggered 
a  ship,  in  whose  ragged  shrouds  the  wind  sang  a 
song  of  destruction,  coming  sure  and  fast. 


THE   MERCHANTMAN  11 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE    MERCHANTMAN 

AT  the  head  of  the  Black  Glen  lay  the  crofts  of 
Pitlochie,  hidden  away  in  a  nook  amongst 
the  hills,  where  the  Whipple  was  a  mere 
thread,  dyed  brown  with  the  moss-water,  where  the 
dark  tarn  nestled  at  the  base  of  a  mighty  mountain 
spur,  and  where  often  in  summer-time  no  sound 
might  be  heard  the  live-long  day  but  the  plaintive 
bleat  of  sheep,  the  melancholy  whistle  of  the  curlew, 
the  drumming  of  solitary  snipe,  and  the  harsh, 
barking  croak  of  the  ravens  from  the  rock  corries. 

For  then  man,  woman  and  child  would  be  off  to 
the  stills  in  bleak  Glen  Molachan,  unless  indeed 
there  had  been  work  in  the  night  to  keep  them  all 
abed — a  lugger  scared  from  the  Solway  mouth  ready 
to  run  a  cargo  where  there  was  little  risk  of  dis- 
covery. 

Now,  however,  the  Pitlochie  men  were  at  their 
cottage  doors.  The  night  had  passed,  but  the  storm 
still  raged,  and  they  watched  the  scudding  streamers 
of  mist  which  swept  along  the  hill  crests,  and 
marked  the  effects  of  the  blast  on  the  few  and 
stunted  firs  which  had  struggled  for  existence  on 
those  bare  uplands.  But  a  half-dozen  remained, 
and  even  those  showed  long  white  scars,  where 
branches  had  been  rent  from  the  parent  stems,  and 
now,  ragged  and  forlorn,  they  were  swaying  and 
bending  like  drunken  things,  while  the  mournful 
swish  of  the  wind  through  their  dark  needle  clusters 
sounded  like  a  weird  hill  music,  a  dirge  of  death. 

As  one  of  them  was  at  last  uprooted  and  crashed 
to  mother  earth  after  a  gallant  fight  and  much  loss 
of  top  hamper,  there  suddenly  reached  the  onlookers 
another  signal  of  death  and  destruction.  It  had 
cleared,  but  the  whistling  gusts  were  as  violent  as 


12  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

ever,  whirling  the  snow-drifts  into  clouds  of  fine, 
feathery  particles,  which  drove  along  the  hillsides 
with  the  speed  of  flying  birds.  The  whole  glen  was 
full  of  sound,  but  there  came  a  lull,  a  pause,  as  of 
momentary  exhaustion,  and  with  it  a  faint,  distant 
boom,  distinct  and  separate  for  an  instant,  and  then 
whisked  away  on  a  shrieking  blast,  which  tore  the 
thatch  of  an  outhouse  into  fragments. 

It  was  a  signal  known  and  loved  by  this  lawless 
community,  and  at  its  summons  man  after  man 
caught  up  his  stick  and  bonnet  and  took  the  moor- 
land path  which  led  to  the  shore  and  the  Caves  of 
Cowrie.  It  was  one  long  battle  with  gasping  breaths 
and  straining  limbs  all  the  way  across  the  heather, 
the  salt  spray  flying  inland  and  stinging  against  their 
faces,  a  feeling  all  the  time  as  if  they  were  striving 
against  some  invisible  water  current  of  vast  depth 
and  strength ;  but  at  last,  breathless  and  exhausted, 
they  reached  the  cliff  edge,  and  threw  themselves 
down,  gripping  the  coarse  grass  and  the  bracken 
stems,  and  gazing  out  to  sea. 

The  day  had  cleared,  and  all  over  the  ocean  there 
was  a  curious,  fresh,  greenish  light,  a  sort  of  airi- 
ness and  transparency,  as  is  sometimes  seen  the 
morning  after  a  heavy  winter's  gale ;  but  here  the 
gale  was  still  raging,  in  spite  of  the  cold,  bright  sky, 
and  the  absence  of  mist  or  driving  sleet.  The  sea 
itself  was  a  brilliant  green,  a  mass  of  vast,  surging 
waves  roaring  shorewards,  with  tossing  plumes  and 
a  skirmishing  advance  cloud  of  scud  and  spray. 

Close  to  the  beach,  a  little  of  which  still  showed, 
the  mighty  rollers  came  in  with  a  rush,  curling  and 
better  curling,  white  lines  of  foam  streaming  back- 
wards along  their  smooth  and  curving  backs,  till, 
overbalancing,  they  thundered  down  upon  the  sand 
and  pebbles  and  back-flow.  And  then  up  would 
shoot  a  deluge  of  spume,  while  a  rush  of  creamy 
froth  slithered  greedily  onwards  towards  the  cliff 
base,  only  to  be  sucked  seawards  and  overwhelmed 


THE  MERCHANTMAN  13 

by  the  next  towering  water  wall  as  it  fell  and  burst. 
North  and  south  in  an  almost  unbroken  line  the 
charging  mountainous  seas  wreaked  their  fury  upon 
the  shifting  foreground,  almost  unbroken,  for  in  one 
part  a  row  of  peaked,  wrack-clad  rocks,  showing  in 
line  like  the  back  ridge  of  an  alligator,  broke  the 
force  of  these  ocean  giants.  They  formed  a  sort 
of  natural  breakwater,  within  which  the  sea  was  only 
gently  ruffled,  although  the  wind-blown  crests  of  the 
great  waves  without  came  down  in  showers  upon  it 
like  huge  pearl-drops. 

The  dreaded  Skerries,  a  mile  off  shore,  low-lying, 
like  hidden  traps,  at  the  best  of  times,  were  now 
buried  beneath  a  constant  streak  of  broken  water,  a 
wild  jabble  of  foam,  which  showed  away  out  to  sea 
on  either  side  of  the  Stacks.  These  latter,  two  in 
number,  were  like  sharp  black  teeth,  rocks  such  as 
may  be  seen  off  the  lies  D'Hyeres,  near  Toulon, 
miniature  Pitons  of  St.  Lucia,  small  pyramids  jutting 
upwards  from  the  waste  around.  A  narrow,  a  very 
narrow,  channel  separated  one  from  the  other,  and 
there  the  water  was  of  great  depth,  but  on  the  outer 
side  of  either  fang  lay  the  Skerries,  north  and  south, 
as  they  were  named  upon  the  chart. 

Surrounded  by  a  network  of  currents  and  tiny 
whirlpools,  they  were  dreaded  by  both  fishermen 
and  mariners,  and  loved  only  by  the  restless  herring- 
gulls  and  wild  sea-mews,  which  in  calm  weather 
congregated  about  them  in  myriads,  and  rent  the 
air  with  their  discordant  cries.  But  there  was  no 
bird-life  on  the  Skerries  that  day,  and  the  Stacks 
were  being  bombarded  by  billow  after  billow,  some 
sweeping  clear  over  their  forty  feet  of  weathered 
basalt,  while  others  caught  them  half-way  up  in 
their  chill  embrace,  and  yet  others,  their  bases 
broken,  swept  and  washed  about  them  in  broad, 
white,  bubbling  tracts,  as  though  baffled  in  their 
efforts  to  outdo  their  mightier  brethren. 

But  the  men  of  Pitlochie  had  no  eyes  for  such  a 


14  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

scene  of  wild  grandeur.  That  which  caused  them 
to  stare  intently  into  the  eye  of  the  wind  was  the 
sight  of  a  ship  away  beyond  the  outlying  rocks  and 
reefs.  With  nothing  showing  but  a  tiny  spread 
of  foresail  and  a  small  jib,  with  broken  stumps  in 
place  of  main  and  mizzen  masts,  with  foretopmast 
and  bowsprit  end  gone,  and  a  heap  of  floating 
wreckage  clinging  to  her  leeward  side,  a  great  barque 
was  striving  to  beat  off  shore. 

Through  the  glass  one  could  mark  how  she  lifted 
to  the  seas  and  lurched  with  a  stagger  into  the 
furrows,  how  some  of  the  larger  billows  swept  in 
torrents  over  her  decks,  threatening  to  engulph  her 
altogether.  Her  guns  had  ceased  firing,  her  crew 
were  clustered  like  clinging  bees  in  the  fore-rigging, 
save  two  figures  which  were  lashed  to  the  wheel. 
Not  a  rag  of  bunting  betrayed  her  nationality,  but 
she  was  plainly  a  merchantman,  and  as  plainly  a 
merchantman  doomed. 

'A  furriner,'  growled  a  grizzled,  evil-faced  man, 
whose  roving  life  had  come  to  an  anchorage  in  the 

Black  Glen  ;  '  a  furriner  and '     He  ended  with 

a  string  of  foul  oaths,  for  he  had  caught  sight  of  a 
band  of  men  coming  along  the  cliff-tops  from  the 
direction  of  the  fishing  village. 

His  companions  paid  no  heed  to  his  blasphemies. 
A  fresh  gust  of  wind  had  blinded  them  for  a 
moment,  so  pungent  was  the  salt  splutter  which 
struck  upon  their  eyeballs.  When  next  they  looked 
seawards  there  was  enough  to  engross  their  whole 
attention.  The  men  on  deck  had  vanished,  the 
vessel  had  relinquished  her  desperate  struggle,  but 
in  her  vain  beat  for  life  she  had  come  opposite  the 
channel  between  the  Stacks.  And  now,  as  they 
watched  her,  she  swung  round,  bow  on  to  the  shore, 
was  caught  on  the  breast  of  a  huge  wave,  and 
hurled  like  a  plaything  of  the  rollers  towards  the. 
rocks.  Then  suddenly  she  vanished  in  the  trough, 
only  to  be  again  caught  up  and  again  to  vanish, 
nearer  than  ever  to  her  fate. 


THE  MERCHANTMAN  15 

A  shout  burst  from  the  smugglers,  for  once  again 
the  black  form  of  the  ship  showed  upon  a  wave-top, 
with  a  smother  of  foam  all  about  her.  On  she 
came,  till  she  seemed  balanced  half-way  up  between 
the  mighty  teeth,  and,  tossing  on  the  wind,  a  wild 
cry  was  born  to  the  shore.  Then  the  wave  surged 
forward  alone,  and  there,  gripped  by  the  rocks, 
stuck  fast  between  the  deadly  Stacks,  with  broken 
water  pouring  over  her  in  cascades,  and  dripping 
down  upon  her  from  above,  hung  the  poor  barque, 
her  nose  dipping  low,  her  stern  tilted  high,  and  her 
streaming  decks  showing  in  their  full  length  and 
breadth. 

At  the  sight  a  chorus  of  angry  curses  burst  from 
the  men  of  Pitlochie.  Their  prey  had  escaped  them. 
Well  did  they  know  the  run  of  the  currents  and  the 
faint  chance  there  was  of  any  cargo  drifting  to  the 
beach  once  the  Stacks  or  Skerries  had  gripped  a 
hapless  ship.  They  started  to  their  feet  and  shook 
their  fists  at  the  wreck,  then  cursed  again,  as  they 
became  aware  of  the  presence  of  a  dozen  men  who 
had  halted  some  twenty  yards  away. 

These  were  the  fishermen  of  Shiachan,  and  at 
their  head  were  the  grandsons  of  Ian  Darroch. 
Word  had  been  brought  of  the  minute-guns,  and 
Neil,  a  favourite  in  the  old  days  with  the  big 
burly  men  of  bronzed  faces  and  horny  hands,  had 
organized  a  rescue  party,  which  at  the  last  moment 
Geoffrey  Darroch  had  asked  leave  to  join.  They 
carried  several  coils  of  rope  and  lighter  lines,  but 
Neil,  who  knew  that  for  long  there  had  been  bad 
blood  between  the  fisher-folk  and  the  smugglers, 
was  a  trifle  put  out  at  the  latter's  appearance.  He 
began  to  see  trouble  ahead,  and  halted  his  men  to 
consider  what  best  could  be  done.  Meanwhile  the 
barque's  foremast  broke  across  some  six  feet  above 
deck-level,  and  fell  upon  her  port-bow,  taking  most 
of  her  crew  with  it,  and  flinging  half  a  dozen  of 
them  into  the  sea,  where  they  were  swallowed  up  in 
a  few  seconds  of  time. 


16  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

'  She'll  break  up  in  a  minute  or  two,  I  fancy,'  Neil 
shouted  into  the  ear  of  the  man  next  him. 

But  the  latter  shook  his  head,  and  pointed  away 
to  the  horizon.  There  was  clear  evidence  that  the 
gale  was  breaking ;  it  was  not  to  last  another  day. 
Curious  streaks  of  a  brighter  light  than  the  sky  held 
stretched  in  long  lines  from  north  to  south,  and  a 
glimmering  of  sunlight  was  struggling  to  display 
itself — a  cold,  wintry  gleam  which  had  nothing  of 
cheerfulness  about  it.  The  force  of  the  blast  was 
lessening,  while  already  the  waves  were  scarce  so 
huge  as  they  had  been. 

There  might  yet  be  a  chance  of  saving  the  un- 
happy creatures  on  the  wreck.  The  tide  was  only 
making,  and  the  sea  had  not  yet  reached  the  cliff- 
base,  so  that  it  was  possible  to  launch  a  boat  under 
shelter  of  the  long  reef.  But,  supposing  a  boat  could 
live  in  such  weather,  where  was  it  to  be  got  ?  There 
was  no  sign  of  any  craft  upon  the  beach.  All  at  once 
Neil  remembered  the  caves.  It  was  probable,  indeed 
almost  certain,  that  some  kind  of  boat  lay  concealed 
in  one  or  other  of  them.  But  how  were  they  to  be 
reached  ? 

He  was  but  little  acquainted  with  this  part  of  the 
coast-line,  for  as  a  boy  the  fear  of  the  free-traders 
had  been  upon  him,  and  Ian  Darroch's  tales  had  not 
encouraged  him  to  seek  an  acquaintance  with  the 
men  of  Pitlochie.  At  the  same  time,  he  knew  that 
there  must  be  some  secret  passage  leading  to  the  caves 
from  the  cliff-tops,  the  cliffs  themselves,  though  not  a 
hundred  feet  in  height,  being  very  steep  and  pathless. 
He  had  heard  of  such  entrances  on  the  East  Coast — 
long  sloping  tunnels  with  concealed  mouths,  half 
natural,  half  artificial.  Whatever  was  done  would, 
however,  have  to  be  done  very  quickly.  No  boat 
could  be  launched  once  the  rollers  began  to  plunge 
into  the  rock  recesses,  while  every  moment  was 
lessening  the  number  of  the  black  figures  clinging  to 
mast-stumps  or  bulwarks,  and  every  now  and  then 


THE  MERCHANTMAN  17 

there  came  floating  shorewards  the  mournful  wail  of 
some  poor  wretch  going  down  to  feed  the  crabs  and 
cod  and  conger,  or  to  drift  in  time,  a  disfigured, 
swollen  horror,  upon  the  wave-beat  shingle. 

From  what  the  excited  fishermen  said  amongst 
themselves,  Neil  gathered  that  the  smugglers  had  a 
large  boat,  buoyed  with  empty  barrels,  which  they 
used  in  a  rough  sea,  and  that  if  she  was  forthcoming 
his  men  were  willing  to  make  an  attempt  at  rescue. 
He  resolved  that  it  should  be  made. 

'  Yonder  fellows  are  difficult  to  handle,'  he  said  to 
Geoffrey,  nodding  towards  the  free-traders,  '  but  I 
suppose  I  can  count  on  your  support  ?' 

'  To  tell  the  truth,  Mr.  Darroch,'  was  the  reply, 
'  it  seems  to  me  a  hopeless  business,  and  scarcely 
worth  the  risk  of  making  enemies  of  those  men. 
They  may  be  my  neighbours  before  long.' 

'  And  to  conciliate  a  set  of  rogues  you  would  let  a 
ship's  company,  with  perhaps  women  amongst  them, 
drown  before  your  eyes !  Shame  on  you,  sir !' 
sneered  Neil,  his  natural  coolness  all  but  deserting 
him  for  a  moment.  '  Come  along,  men,'  he  added. 
'  We,  at  any  rate,  must  do  our  best.' 

Geoffrey  Darroch  made  no  answer  to  Neil's 
scornful  words,  but  he  was  none  the  less  enraged. 
He  made  up  his  mind  there  and  then  that  this 
'whelp  of  a  Frenchman,'  as  he  called  his  step- 
brother, would  yet  suffer  for  his  insolence,  and  in 
high  dudgeon  he  turned  his  back,  and  set  off  the  way 
he  had  come. 

The  which  more  than  one  of  the  men  of  Pitlochie 
noted  with  a  lively  satisfaction,  for  this  fine-looking 
gentleman  could  be  none  other  than  the  future 
Darroch  of  Darroch. 

It  encouraged  them  in  their  spirit  of  resistance, 
and  Neil's  demand  for  a  guide  to  the  caves  was  met 
by  a  sullen  refusal.  It  was  no  time  for  words,  and 
as  he  was  determined  to  use  force  if  need  be,  and  the 
fishermen  were  ready  to  back  him,  things  might  have 


i8  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

taken  a  serious  turn  had  not  the  air  been  suddenly 
filled  with  a  sullen  booming  sound,  like  distant 
thunder. 

The  sea  had  reached  the  rocks,  and  the  great 
waves  were  plunging  one  after  another  with  re- 
verberating roar  into  the  dark  mouths  of  the  Caves 
of  Cowrie. 

'  It  will  be  no  good  now,  sir,'  said  old  Tosh,  a  gray- 
headed  veteran  whose  word  carried  weight ;  '  and, 
moreover,  she's  near  through  with  it.' 

'  Ay,  that's  so,'  said  another ;  '  but  curse  them  for 
black-hearted  cowards !' 

A  change  had  come  over  the  barque.  Although 
the  gale,  quick  to  come,  was  quick  to  go,  and 
although  the  breakers  were  changing  into  rollers 
without  ragged,  broken  crests,  the  sea  had  done  its 
fell  work.  The  ship  had  slipped  downwards.  She 
was  again  on  a  level  keel,  and  had  neared  the  white 
race  of  waters  from  which  the  waves  sprang  at  her 
greedy  and  hissing.  She  was  grinding  out  her 
bottom  against  the  Stacks — grinding  with  split  and 
shattered  planks.  All  sign  of  life  had  vanished  from 
her  decks  ;  she  was  a  mere  shapeless  hulk.  Her 
end  was  not  long  in  coming.  Three  mighty  billows 
followed  one  another,  as  is  their  wont,  in  rapid  suc- 
cession. Their  combined  onslaught  was  too  much 
for  the  hapless  ship.  The  first  loosened  her  hold  of 
the  Stacks,  the  second  drove  up  her  stern  till  once 
more  a  glimpse  could  be  had  of  her  decks — a  glimpse 
only,  for  the  third,  roaring  as  if  in  triumph,  went 
rushing  over  her  in  a  green  cataract,  edged  and 
streaked  by  white  foam  and  spray;  and  when  it 
passed,  the  barque  had  passed  also,  had  lurched  and 
dived  and  sunk  to  meet  the  rotting  ribs  and  rusted 
ordnance  which  lay  on  the  sea-bottom  about  the 
Stacks  and  Skerries  as  bones  and  carcases  lie  about 
an  eagle's  eyrie  or  a  wild  beast's  den. 

The  last  trace  of  the  merchantman  was  gone. 


THE  CORPSE  19 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    CORPSE 

HARD  upon  the  storm  came  a  white  frost. 
There  was  a  silvery  coating  of  rime  on 
every  grass-blade,  a  stillness  all  over  the 
glen  and  round  the  house  of  Darroch,  whose  leaden 
turrets  gleamed  white  through  the  morning's  mist. 
The  birds  sat  still  and  ruffled  in  the  coppices,  a 
suspicion  of  ice  had  gathered  at  the  burn's  side. 
About  the  Stacks  and  Skerries  the  sea  sobbed  heavily, 
as  a  child  sobs  after  a  fit  of  anger.  As  the  hours 
passed  the  sun  made  his  presence  felt,  and  the  day 
brightened,  but  brought  no  relief  to  Neil  Darroch. 
He  was  restless  and  annoyed. 

Although  there  had  been  no  open  breach  of  the 
peace,  he  knew  that  the  smugglers  looked  on  him 
with  suspicion,  and  might  yet  prove  troublesome. 
For  that  he  cared  little,  but  his  stepbrother's 
behaviour  irritated  and  angered  him.  Geoffrey 
Darroch  had  met  him  with  black  looks  on  his  return, 
and  though  Monsieur  Deschamps,  pleased  at  having 
company,  had  been  lively  and  amusing  for  a  time, 
his  efforts  had  failed  to  dissipate  the  cloud  which, 
though  small  as  a  man's  hand,  had  already  begun  to 
gather.  The  old  Frenchman  could  not  understand 
what  had  occurred,  and  fearing  he  was  in  some  way 
to  blame,  became  timid  and  out  of  humour. 

Things  were  no  better  on  the  morrow.  Neil  did 
not  feel  called  upon  to  apologize.  This  brother  of 
his  was  not  at  all  to  his  liking,  and  though,  with 
Ian  Darroch  worse,  and  the  shadow  of  death  hover- 
ing near,  he  felt  that  any  quarrel  was  unseemly,  he 
was  determined  to  make  no  advances  till  Geoffrey 
had  explained  his  conduct  of  the  previous  day. 
'  The  man  does  not  look  a  coward,'  he  told  himself, 
( but  his  action  was  tantamount  to  an  insult,'  and 

2—2 


20  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

Monsieur  Deschamps,  whom  he  took  into  his  con- 
fidence, entirely  agreed  with  him. 

'  I  like  him  not,  my  boy,'  said  the  old  man. 
'  Already  he  sits  in  the  best  chair,  and  speaks  as  if 
he  were  the  master.  I  have  caught  him  laughing  at  me 
— at  me,  Charles  Deschamps  ;  but  let  him  beware  !  I 
have  seen  a  better  man  quail  beneath  my  eye.  Oh 
yes,  there  was  ' — and  he  rambled  away  upon  some 
pet  story  of  his  early  days,  while  Neil  smiled  at  his 
vehemence  and  threats.  It  was  a  new  thing  for 
Monsieur  Deschamps  to  show  such  spirit. 

'  Never  mind  him,'  he  answered.  '  We'll  both  go 
off  together  and  see  how  town  life  suits  you.' 

'  Ha  !  but  that  will  be  grand/  said  the  oH  fellow, 
with  a  gleam  in  his  faded  eyes.  '  It  grows  dull  here, 
though  the  air  is  pleasant.  Still,  my  health,  I  think, 
is  sufficiently  restored,  and  there  is  no  reason  to  stay 
longer.' 

This  was  ever  his  idea,  that  he  was  merely  re- 
cruiting, and  would  ere  long  return  to  his  gaieties 
and  beloved  Paris.  Those  terrible  days  when  his 
life  hung  by  a  thread  and  his  brain  became  unhinged 
were  mercifully  blotted  out,  and  as  a  rule  Monsieur 
Deschamp's  chatter  was  of  the  cheeriest.  He  was, 
however,  readily  influenced  by  his  surroundings,  and 
was  always  at  his  best  in  the  long  summer  days, 
when  he  would  wander  out  to  have  a  chat  with  the 
fisher-wives  and  play  with  the  bairns.  In  the  winter 
it  was  otherwise.  He  would  sit,  hour  in,  hour  out, 
before  the  hall  fire,  mournfully  shaking  his  head,  and 
letting  tears  course  down  his  puckered  cheeks. 
Such  a  fit  came  upon  him  now,  and  Geoffrey 
Darroch  having  locked  himself  into  his  own  room, 
Neil,  to  whom  inaction  was  a  thing  unbearable, 
sallied  out,  and  took  his  way  towards  the  mouth  of 
the  Whipple,  a  tidal  stream  with  a  bar  of  silted 
sand  at  its  mouth  and  a  carpeting  of  green  weed  at 
the  ebb.  He  came  upon  the  cobble  which  served  as 
a  ferry  for  the  bait-gatherers,  and  a  few  strokes 


THE  CORPSE  21 

carried  him  across  the  channel,  the  water  being  low, 
and  running  rapidly  out.  He  landed,  and  walking 
across  a  stretch  of  links  dotted  with  brown-tipped, 
prickly  whin-clumps,  which  in  spring  were  masses 
of  golden  yellow,  he  reached  the  great  sweep  of 
sands  which  bounded  the  bay  of  Shiachan  from  the 
river's  mouth  to  the  rocky,  sea-bird-spotted  Croban, 
towards  which  he  saw  a  scart  speeding  with  low  and 
rapid  flight — an  evil-looking  bird,  so  black  its  colour, 
so  strange  its  shape,  long-necked  and  long-winged, 
silent  and  solitary.  Like  all  thoughtful  men,  Neil 
Darroch  found  a  real  pleasure  in  Nature,  and  no- 
where more  than  on  the  beach.  The  dead  star-fish, 
the  empty,  spineless  case  of  the  urchin,  the  mottled 
razor-shells,  forced  open  and  polished  clean,  all  told 
him  a  story — the  great  tragedy  of  the  survival  of  the 
fittest.  The  birds  were  busy  playing  in  it,  uncon- 
scious actors  ;  the  very  weed  masses  were  full  of 
sand-beetles  and  minute  crabs,  taking  minor  parts, 
and  as  much  else  as  they  could  get.  Winter  in 
some  ways  is  the  best  time  on  the  shore.  There  is 
more  wild  life  in  the  short  days,  there  is  more  drift 
from  the  angry  seas  and  the  high  tides,  and  there  is 
often  a  strange  beauty  in  a  frosty  evening  on  a 
deserted  strand,  in  the  setting  of  a  crimson  sun 
away  out  upon  a  cold,  gray  ocean,  in  the  vague 
melancholy  of  a  vast  water  stretch,  drab  and  dull, 
and  beating  sorrowfully  upon  a  lonely  length  of  salt 
sea  sand. 

He  sauntered  along,  wondering  if  he  would  have 
to  remain  beyond  the  week  or  ten  days  which  he 
had  allowed  himself.  His  grandfather  was  worse, 
and  only  half-conscious,  and  he  sorrowed  for  the  old 
man  whose  life  had  been  so  loveless  and  sad. 

'Strange,'  he  muttered,  'that  he  who  hates  the 
English,  and  with  good  cause,  should  be  succeeded 
by  one  who  has  no  sympathy  with  him,  though,  if 
I  am  not  mistaken,  he  has  his  vices.  It  looks  as 
though  he  meant  to  encourage  those  rogues  of 


22  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

smugglers,  though  for  what  reason  it  would  be  hard 
to  tell.  God  knows  what  has  brought  him  here  at 
all.  He  might  have  had  things  arranged  in  Glasgow, 
or  even  in  his  beloved  London  for  that  matter,  and 
spared  us  his  presence  at  such  a  time.' 

He  turned,  and  away  out  to  sea,  to  the  north, 
beyond  the  bluff  headland,  at  whose  base  coursed 
the  Whipple,  he  could  see  the  southern  Stack  rising 
sentinel-like  against  the  sky. 

A  thought  struck  him.  It  was  calm,  and  there 
would  be  light  for  a  couple  of  hours.  Why  should 
he  not  pay  a  visit  to  the  scene  of  the  shipwreck  ? 
Retracing  his  steps,  he  again  crossed  in  the  cobble, 
and  in  a  cove  amongst  the  rocks  found  a  boat,  which 
he  had  no  difficulty  in  launching.  There  were  oars 
and  a  baling-dish  in  her,  and  without  more  ado  he 
started  off.  Had  he  been  wise,  he  would  have  asked 
old  Tosh's  advice  before  venturing;  for  the  day  had 
changed,  the  frost  no  longer  held  the  air,  it  had 
grown  raw,  and  a  faint  sea-breeze  laden  with  moisture 
was  coming  in  puffs  from  the  north-west.  Still,  it 
only  sufficed  to  ripple  the  smooth  surface  of  the 
heavy  swell,  which  scarcely  impeded  him  as  he  pulled 
steadily  along  half  a  mile  off  shore.  He  did  not 
notice  the  sea-fog  creeping  up,  for  the  mass  of  the 
Stacks  hid  it  from  him  as  he  drew  close  to  them. 
The  birds  on  the  Skerries  were  uneasy,  shifting  here 
and  there,  and  screaming  harshly  as  the  falling  tide 
left  bare  some  savoury  tit-bit.  Very  vast  and  for- 
bidding looked  the  huge,  irregular  pyramids  of  rock, 
slimy  and  wet,  a  full  ten  feet  above  the  gurgling  gray 
sea  which  sucked  at  them.  But  Neil  had  no  time 
to  view  them  just  then.  The  boat  demanded  all 
his  attention ;  for  the  strong,  deep  currents  had  it  in 
their  grip,  and  tended  to  whirl  it  this  way  and  that, 
to  spin  it  like  a  teetotum,  and  it  needed  a  long  swing 
and  a  heavy  tug  to  keep  her  nose  straight.  He  had 
been  here  before,  otherwise  he  would  not  have 
ventured,  for  the  water  jabble  was  like  a  trap,  like  a 


THE  CORPSE  23 

liquid  maze,  bewildering  and  deadly,  and  even  on 
the  land  side  a  tract  of  foam  formed  a  setting  for 
the  wreck-feathered  Skerries.  As  it  was,  he  found 
himself  in  the  channel  between  the  Stacks  where 
the  ill-fated  barque  had  stuck  fast  till  she  was  swept 
to  her  doom. 

At  the  ebb  there  was  a  curve  in  the  narrow 
passage  which  broke  the  force  of  the  ocean  heave 
that  came  lapping  in  between  the  black  walls  of 
basalt,  and  so,  though  the  water  strip  was  streaked 
with  white,  it  was  comparatively  calm.  Neil  was 
breathing  hard  as  he  forced  the  boat  into  the  chasm, 
and  he  rested  a  little,  fending  himself  from  the 
slippery  rock  as  he  drifted  towards  it. 

As  he  thus  lay,  dipping  and  splashing,  the  sea-fog, 
salt  and  stealthy,  began  to  close  about  him.  Almost 
before  he  realized  its  presence  it  had  wrapped  him 
round.  Forty  feet  above  him  the  Stack  top  rose 
clear  from  its  shredding  streamers,  but  on  the  water 
surface  it  lay  thick,  yet  lightly,  rolling  gently  past 
him  and  shrouding  his  view  at  the  distance  of  a  few 
yards.  He  began  to  grow  alarmed.  The  birds  had 
ceased  their  clamour,  and  all  was  dead  silent,  save 
for  the  suck  and  drip  of  the  sea  and  the  monotonous 
splash,  splash  of  the  boat's  bow.  It  was  impossible 
for  him  to  find  his  way  back  in  safety  while  the  fog 
lasted. 

He  sat,  oars  in  hand,  on  one  of  the  thwarts,  his 
thick  topcoat  buttoned  closely  round  his  throat,  and 
waited.  Presently,  to  his  relief,  a  rift  showed  in  the 
vapour  curtain.  He  got  a  glimpse  of  the  northern 
Stack,  and  at  the  same  moment  something  white 
caught  his  eye.  It  startled  him,  but  vanished  again 
as  a  fresh  curl  of  fog  drifted  past.  He  thought  of 
the  ship's  crew  who  lay  fathoms  deep  beneath  his 
boat's  keel.  He  shivered  a  little,  and  wondered 
what  it  was  he  had  seen  against  the  black  rock. 
Once  more  the  fog  cleared,  and  he  looked  anxiously 
at  the  spot.  The  white  object  was  still  there,  but  a 


24  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

second  later  he  laughed  at  his  fears.  It  was  a  great 
white  gull,  perched  on  a  rounded  block — but,  stay  ! 
Was  that  a  rock  upon  which  its  webbed  and  yellow 
feet  rested  ?  Neil  stared  at  it,  as  its  outline  grew 
more  definite,  and  a  vague  horror  took  hold  of 
him. 

It  was  the  face  of  a  man,  and  the  bird  sat  upon 
his  skull ! 

The  thing  was  hideous,  a  head  without  a  body, 
black  as  the  rock  itself.  Almost  involuntarily  Neil 
uttered  a  cry  of  dismay,  and  the  bird  lazily  spread 
its  wings  and  launched  itself  into  the  mist  which 
was  gathering  again,  but  gathering  only  to  pass 
quickly. 

He  had  not  been  deceived.  What  he  saw  was  the 
head  of  a  negro,  the  blanched  lips  shrunken,  and 
revealing  a  double  row  of  grinning  teeth,  the  eyes 
half  closed,  the  huge  ears  spreading  like  wings  on 
either  side.  It  was  like  a  gargoyle,  motionless  and 
weird. 

He  approached  closer,  and  as  he  did  so  noticed 
that  the  full-tide  mark  was  several  feet  above  this 
ghastly  relic  of  the  wreck. 

In  the  drowned  the  face  is  the  first  part  which 
suffers,  but  there  had  been  no  time  for  disfiguration 
here.  It  was  wonderfully  life-like.  He  half  expected 
to  see  the  eyelids  wink  and  the  grin  expand.  The 
negro  looked  as  if  smiling  to  himself. 

It  was  only  when  Neil  had  run  his  boat  up  to  the 
base  of  the  rock  that  the  mystery  was  explained. 
The  man  was  fixed  up  to  the  chin  in  a  great  vertical 
cleft.  It  was  possible  to  land  on  a  narrow  ledge,  and 
Neil,  overcoming  his  natural  repugnance,  scrambled 
ashore,  taking  the  boat's  painter  with  him.  This  he 
made  fast  round  a  little  pinnacle  of  the  rock,  and 
then  climbed  carefully  upwards  till  he  was  on  a  level 
with  the  mouth  of  the  crevice. 

The  cleft  was  narrow ;  no  doubt  the  body  had 
b,een  sucked  into  it,  and  had  been  caught  beneath 


THE  CORPSE  25 

the  chin.  The  neck  rested  in  a  groove  with  sharp 
edges.  The  trunk,  short  but  stoutly  built,  hung 
suspended  in  the  fissure,  which,  though  not  wide, 
was  deep.  The  sea  was  disintegrating  the  base  of 
the  northern  Stack.  The  miniature  chasm  was  free 
of  water,  there  being  cracks  in  its  outer  wall,  through 
which  the  sea  drained.  Its  bottom  would  have  been 
visible  but  for  what  it  held  in  the  shape  of  driftwood. 
It  was  a  veritable  trap. 

Now  that  Neil  had  solved  the  mystery,  the  feeling 
of  dread  which  had  possessed  him  passed  away. 
For  a  moment  he  thought  of  carrying  the  body 
ashore ;  but  the  idea  was  repulsive,  and  it  would 
serve  no  purpose.  The  negro  was  clad  in  a  loose 
shirt  and  duck  trousers.  All  that  could  be  done  was 
to  search  him  for  some  clue  as  to  what  vessel  this 
was  which  had  met  an  untimely  fate,  and  then  to 
commit  his  body  to  the  deep,  to  complete  the  ship's 
company  which  it  would  seem  he  had  striven  hard 
to  leave. 

Neil's  footing  was  too  uncertain  to  allow  him  to 
drag  the  body  free,  and  so,  without  a  second  thought, 
he  slipped  down  into  the  crevice,  and  began  hastily 
to  turn  out  the  man's  pockets.  As  he  did  so,  a  fresh 
wreath  of  fog  came  swirling  past,  and  had  it  not 
been  that  he  could  hear  his  boat  splashing  briskly 
below  him,  he  might  have  imagined  himself  cut  off 
from  the  shore,  for  he  could  see  nothing  of  the  water 
channel. 

But  as  he  completed  his  fruitless  search,  another 
sound  caught  his  ears :  a  creaking  as  of  wood  on 
wood,  and  then  the  unmistakable  dip  of  oars.  He 
was  not  alone ;  he  held  his  breath,  and  listened 
intently.  There  came  a  murmur  of  voices  from 
somewhere  in  the  mist,  and  then  again  the  creak  of 
oars  in  rowlocks.  His  height  was  such  that,  stand- 
ing erect,  he  could  look  over  the  edge  of  the  rock- 
cleft  ;  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen — everything 
was  shrouded  from  his  view. 


26  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

He  had  no  doubt,  however,  as  to  the  cause  of 
these  noises.  The  smugglers,  like  himself,  had  seen 
fit  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  Stacks.  He  cursed  the 
stupidity  which  had  made  him  forget  the  likelihood 
of  such  an  occurrence,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it 
now.  Already  the  fog  was  thinning,  and  his  boat 
would  be  discovered.  There  was  no  doubt  he  was 
in  danger.  Only  the  day  before  he  had  defied  these 
very  men,  and  threatened  them,  while  he  knew  that 
they  would  regard  his  presence  on  the  Stacks  as  an 
act  of  trespass.  They  did  not  stick  at  trifles,  and 
would  think  nothing  of  holding  him  to  ransom,  even 
if  they  did  not  knock  him  on  the  head. 

The  whole  history  of  the  gang  was  peculiar. 
Their  origin  dated  back  to  the  year  1754.  In  that 
year  Ian  Darroch  returned  home,  the  leader  of  a  set 
of  desperadoes  who  along  with  him  escaped  from 
Barbadoes.  They  had  sailed  in  a  small  craft,  but 
it  was  a  fair-sized  brig  which  one  dark  night  came 
to  grief  upon  the  Skerries,  and  left  her  bones  there. 
A  boat-load  had  managed  to  reach  the  shore  at  the 
Caves  of  Cowrie,  and  with  them  had  come  a  few 
wretched  women,  who  had  been  offered  marriage 
by  lot,  with,  as  an  alternative,  death,  and  worse  than 
death. 

In  those  days  Darroch  House  was  held  by  a 
garrison.  It  was  a  convenient  spot  from  which  to 
overawe  a  part  of  the  country  then  more  populous, 
and  which  had  not  been  backward  in  proclaiming  for 
the  exiled  House  of  Stuart.  What  happened  was 
never  fully  known,  but  certain  it  is  that  one  night 
the  red-coats  fled  in  terror  to  Portroy,  and  flatly 
refused  to  return  to  a  place  which  they  said  was  full 
of  devils.  Nothing  more  could  be  learned  from  the 
soldiers,  except  that  there  had  been  neither  violence 
nor  bloodshed.  Even  their  officers,  who  had  been 
absent  at  the  time,  could  do  nothing  with  them,  but 
having  braved  a  night  in  the  house,  they  also  returned 
half  scared  out  of  their  wits. 


THE  CORPSE  27 

The  years  passed,  and  long  after  all  danger  of  a 
rising  was  over  a  rumour  went  abroad  that  some- 
one was  living  in  Darroch  House,  while  a  tale  was 
told  of  a  gang  of  wreckers  in  the  Black  Glen. 
These,  however,  kept  to  themselves,  and  when  it 
was  found  that  amongst  them  were  men  who  had 
been  shipped  into  slavery  eight  years  before,  and 
when  it  was  whispered  that  the  lonely  man  in 
Darroch  House  was  the  laird  himself,  there  were 
few  who  would  earn  blood-money  by  giving  informa- 
tion to  the  Government.  One  such  there  was,  but 
he  vanished  mysteriously  on  his  way  to  the  sheriff, 
and  when  proceedings  were  threatened  at  a  later 
period  men  still  told  how,  in  broad  daylight,  a  band 
of  swarthy  smugglers,  headed  by  a  blind  piper, 
entered  Portroy,  and  vowed  to  burn  every  house  in 
it  if  they  were  not  left  in  peace.  There  had  been 
little  trouble  after  this. 

Ian  Darroch  was  said  to  rule  his  wild  followers 
with  an  iron  hand,  and  while  they  took  what  the 
sea  gave,  and  while  from  a  dozen  wrecks  no  living 
being  emerged  to  tell  the  tale,  there  were  till 
recently  no  complaints  on  the  part  of  those  who 
were  neighbours  to  the  men  of  Pitlochie. 

Time  wrought  changes.  A  fishing  village  sprang 
up  at  Shiachan.  Ian  Darroch  was  absent  for  a 
week,  and  brought  home  a  wife,  who,  happily  for 
herself,  died  in  giving  birth  to  a  son.  The  son  grew 
to  manhood,  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  his 
father's  methods  of  life,  went  off  in  a  revenue  cutter, 
and  returned  with  an  English  bride,  only  to  have 
the  door  slammed  in  his  face,  and  to  be  cursed  and 
threatened.  Trouble  and  want  had  come  upon  this 
Neil  Darroch,  despite  his  wife's  prospects,  and, 
after  her  death,  leaving  his  son  Geoffrey,  he  entered 
the  navy  before  the  mast.  When  a  petty  officer  he 
had  married  a  beautiful  French  girl,  taken  prisoner 
on  a  West  Indiaman  from  Guadaloupe.  As  a 
lieutenant,  rising  rapidly  to  fame,  he  had  fallen  in 


28  VENGEANCE   IS  MINE 

a  cutting-out  expedition  at  the  mouth  of  the  Loire, 
and  we  know  what  became  of  his  widow  and 
children. 

Only  two  of  the  original  band  who  had  escaped 
from  the  brig  now  remained  :  Ian  Darroch,  nearly 
a  hundred  years  of  age,  despite  his  drunken  habits, 
but  tottering  at  last  to  the  grave,  and  Dugald,  the 
blind  piper,  who  had  been  a  boy  of  fifteen  when  he 
saw  Culloden  fought,  but  whose  youth  had  not  saved 
him  from  the  lash  of  the  overseer  and  the  brand  of 
the  slave.  But  though  a  score  of  mossy  stones 
marked  the  resting-places  of  the  old  wreckers,  their 
descendants  still  lived  by  themselves,  a  peculiar 
people,  occasionally  reinforced  by  some  wanderer 
who  found  here  congenial  company,  provided  he 
underwent  successfully  the  searching  examination  to 
which  he  was  subjected  by  the  old  Laird  of  Darroch. 
The  place  was  so  remote  that  the  authorities  found 
no  reason  for  meddling  with  this  colony,  whom 
many  believed  to  be  gipsies,  for  already  the  story 
of  their  coming  was  being  forgotten. 

But  Neil  Darroch  knew  it,  and,  with  the  exception 
of  Dugald,  the  blind  piper,  he  hated  the  whole  crew, 
whom  he  felt  certain  were  kept  in  check  merely  by 
his  grandfather's  presence.  Dugald  he  had  been 
taught  to  regard  as  a  patriot  and  a  martyr,  and  the 
old  Highlander,  who,  before  rheumatism  crippled 
him,  was  frequently  at  Darroch  House,  had  taken  a 
liking  to  the  lad  and  made  much  of  him,  while  Neil 
could  wheedle  a  tune  out  of  him  when  no  one  else, 
not  even  Ian  Darroch,  could  get  him.  to  finger  the 
pipes. 

According  to  him,  the  present  smugglers  were 
very  different  from  those  of  his  time,  who,  except 
for  '  ta  Sassenachs,'  were  honest  lads,  who  could 
never  get  enough  from  the  Government  for  what 
they  had  suffered,  though,  please  God,  they  would 
do  their  best. 

This  Neil  Darroch  was  ready  enough  to  believe, 


THE  CORPSE  29 

but  those  who  were  approaching  through  the  mist 
were  a  set  of  hard-drinking  rogues,  who  more  than 
once  had  come  to  loggerheads  with  the  fisher-folk, 
and  even  with  the  Portroy  people,  and  whom  even 
Ian  Darroch  could  not  always  control. 

'  The  only  thing  to  do,'  Neil  thought,  '  is  to  frighten 
the  villains  and  then  slip  round  to  the  sea  cave  and 
hide  there;  but  how?' 

A  moment  more  and  his  boat  would  be  discovered. 
They  were  drawing  near.  As  they  approached 
closer  their  gruff  voices  sounded  weirdly  loud, 
hemmed  in  as  they  were  by  the  walls  of  rock  on 
either  side,  and  it  was  this  that  brought  an  idea 
into  his  head. 

He  waited  till  he  could  dimly  see  a  dark  shape 
below  him,  and  then  he  crouched  down  in  the 
crevice  beside  the  body  of  the  negro.  The  black 
head  fixed  in  its  niche  had  scared  him.  Why,  then, 
should  it  not  scare  the  new-comers,  especially  if  he 
was  there  to  aid  it  ?  The  action  he  felt  to  be  undig- 
nified, the  trick  that  of  a  schoolboy,  but  it  was  no 
time  to  hesitate,  and  there  was  a  grim  humour  in  the 
thought.  Raising  his  voice  till  it  rang  out  in  a 
wailing  shriek,  he  began  a  series  of  cries,  which 
echoed  and  re-echoed,  and  were  answered  by  the 
clamour  of  affrighted  sea-birds  on  the  Skerries. 
He  paused,  and  he  could  tell  at  once  that  they  had 
taken  effect.  The  voices  had  ceased.  A  waft  of 
wind  swept  lazily  through  the  passage,  and  drove 
the  fog  wreath  before  it. 

As  it  did  so  he  began  again,  imitating  as  best  he 
could  the  laughter  of  a  maniac.  He  was  himself 
surprised  to  find  how  eerie  and  awe-inspiring  it 
sounded — a  shrill,  long-drawn  laughter,  pealing  out 
into  the  salt  sea  mist,  tuneless  and  horrible.  He 
almost  shivered  as  he  listened  to  its  notes,  and 
heard  it  answered  by  the  harsh  and  yet  plaintive 
yammering  of  the  herring-gulls.  But  there  was 
more  to  follow.  As  once  again  he  commenced  his 


30  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

outcry,  there  came  a  shout  of  terror  and  dismay, 
a  confused  jabbering  in  the  mixed  English  and 
Gaelic  of  the  free-traders,  and  then  the  hurried  splash 
of  oars  growing  rapidly  fainter  and  dying  away. 

'  Thank  God  !'  muttered  Neil  to  himself,  yet  could 
not  restrain  a  dry  chuckle  as  he  looked  over  the 
edge  of  the  rock- cleft.  The  channel  was  clear ;  his 
ruse  had  succeeded  better  than  he  had  hoped,  but 
it  was  far  from  improbable  that  the  smugglers  would 
return. 

He  knew  that  on  the  sea  face  of  the  Stack  there 
was  a  cavern  which  could  be  entered  even  at  high 
tide,  a  great  arched  grotto  lined  with  basaltic 
columns,  and  formed,  not  by  the  action  of  waves  and 
wind,  but  by  the  same  volcanic  disturbance  which 
had  heaved  up  both  Stacks  and  Skerries.  It  was 
the  home  of  a  colony  of  rock  pigeons,  being  full  of 
ledges  on  which  they  nested  in  the  springtime,  and 
though  the  free-traders  were  certainly  aware  of  its 
existence,  he  fancied  it  might  afford  him  a  hiding- 
place. 

He  hesitated  whether  or  not  to  leave  the  negro 
in  position,  but  he  reflected  that  if  the  free-traders 
found  neither  boat  nor  head  on  their  return  they 
might  reasonably  conclude  that  they  had  been  mis- 
taken and  not  pursue  their  search  further.  They 
were  superstitious  enough  to  regard  the  cries  as 
coming  from  the  ghosts  of  the  crew  they  had  made 
no  effort  to  succour,  and  in  the  absence  of  anything 
to  explain  what  they  had  seen  and  heard,  would  not 
likely  be  eager  to  stay  long  in  a  spirit-haunted  spot, 
especially  when  it  was  growing  dark.  At  the  same 
time,  he  was  glad  to  be  rid  of  this  ghastly  presence, 
and  with  some  difficulty,  for  the  body  was  heavy, 
he  managed  to  raise  it  and  pitch  it  over  the  ridge. 

It  slid  rapidly  down  the  slippery  side  of  the  Stack, 
and,  much  to  his  relief,  vanished  instantly. 

The  ship's  company,  he  told  himself,  was  again 
complete. 


THE  CASTAWAY  31 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE     CASTAWAY 

AS  rapidly  as  possible  Neil  scrambled  down  into  ' 
his  boat,  cast  her  off,  and,  settling  to  the 
oars,  pulled  round  to  the  mouth  of  the  sea- 
cave,  into  which  the  swell  rolled  with  a  sluggish 
lurch  and  heave.  His  last  visit  had  been  on  a  day 
of  brilliant  sunshine,  when  a  bluish  sheen  wavered 
along  the  walls  of  the  grotto,  and  when  one  could 
trace  the  undulating  lines  of  the  rock  columns  far 
down  into  the  transparent  depths.  Now  all  was 
gloomy  :  the  sea  a  murky,  grayish  brown,  like  the 
mist  which  shrouded  it,  the  narrow  opening  yawning 
black  and  forbidding,  while  from  it  there  issued  a 
hollow  moaning  like  the  mournful  song  of  some 
huge  shell.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  fog,  he  would 
have  tried  to  slip  round  the  southern  Stack,  and 
trust  to  the  start  this  would  give  him  and  to  his  own 
powers  as  an  oarsman  ;  but  he  knew  better  than  to 
grope  his  way  in  this  reef-sown  sea,  and  so  crept 
cautiously  within  the  arch. 

The  cave  was  of  no  great  length,  but  half-way 
down  it  a  branch  ran  off  almost  at  right  angles,  and 
into  this  Neil  thrust  his  boat,  and  made  her  fast  by 
jamming  her  painter  into  a  cranny.  He  sat  still  for 
a  time,  feeling  fairly  secure  ;  then,  wearying  of  doing 
nothing,  and  there  being  no  sign  of  the  smugglers, 
he  clambered  up  to  a  ledge  which,  even  at  full  tide, 
was  above  the  water-level.  It  led  along  the  side  of 
the  cavern  as  far  as  the  entrance,  beyond  which  it 
was  continued  on  the  face  of  the  Stack,  running 
round  towards  the  channel  he  had  just  left.  From 
it  he  could  hear  any  boat  approaching,  and  if  the 
free-traders  entered,  he  would  have  them  at  his 
mercy,  for  strewn  on  the  ledge  were  small  boulders 
and  many  loose  stones,  with  which  he  could  soon 
cause  them  to  beat  a  retreat. 


32  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

'  Humph  !'  he  said  to  himself,  '  you  should  have 
been  an  admiral,  Neil.  Your  dispositions  are  excel- 
lent:  your  own  ship  out  of  harm's  way,  while  the 
enemy,  to  reach  her,  have  to  run  the  gauntlet  with 
*a  vengeance.  One  of  these  lumps  would  just  about 
send  them  to  the  bottom.' 

This  was  all  very  well,  but  scarcely  an  hour  of 
daylight  remained,  and  he  was  growing  hungry.  His 
town  life  had  not  fitted  him  for  an  adventure  of  this 
sort,  though  in  the  old  days  he  would  have  enjoyed 
nothing  better. 

'  Confound  the  rascals !'  he  growled  as  he  picked 
his  way  along  the  ledge  in  the  semi-darkness,  and 
then  halted  suddenly.  A  short  distance  in  front  of 
him  lay  something  dark  and  irregular  in  shape  which 
was  not  a  boulder.  His  eyes  were  getting  accus- 
tomed to  the  gloom,  and  as  he  drew  nearer  it  he 
saw  that  it  was  a  human  body. 

'  This  gets  monotonous,'  he  muttered,  with  a 
laugh  which  hid  a  feeling  of  nervous  discomfort. 
He  was  no  coward,  but  the  dead  negro  still  haunted 
him,  and  there  was  something  uncanny  in  coming 
across  another  corpse  in  such  a  place. 

'  Poor  wretch !'  he  thought.  '  What  the  sea 
began  it  might  have  finished.'  But  a  farther  dis- 
covery filled  him  with  a  genuine  pity.  This  other 
relic  of  the  wreck  was  a  woman.  She  was  scantily 
clad,  and  lay  face  downwards,  long  tresses  of  dark 
hair  streaming  about  her  shoulders,  which  were 
bare.  One  arm  was  doubled  up  beneath  her,  the  other 
outstretched,  and  he  noticed  that  the  fingers  were 
clenched,  shut  fast  with  the  rigid  strength  of  the 
dead — the  dead  who  have  been  drowned.  '  She 
must  have  been  washed  up  here  by  a  wave,'  was  his 
inward  comment. 

Kneeling  down,  he  turned  her  gently  round  upon 
her  back.  Even  in  the  dim  light,  even  in  death,  he 
could  see  that  she  was  young  and  comely. 

'  Ay,  ay,'  he  said  to  himself,  '  but  the  sea  takes 


THE  CASTAWAY  33 

toll  of  all ;  yet  it's  a  sad  pity.  Oh,  damn  those 
rogues  !  I  half  wish  they  were  here  to  sink  with 
her.  But  no,  my  lass/  he  went  on,  'you've  kept 
clear  of  the  sea  so  far,  and  I'll  see  to  it  that  you 
rest  in  a  kirkyard.' 

He  felt  himself  a  fool  for  his  pains,  but  he  had  not 
the  heart  to  pitch  this  hapless  waif  into  the  cold 
and  greedy  water  which  lapped  sullenly  below  him. 
For  all  his  reserve  and  his  sarcasm,  Neil  Darroch 
had  a  kindly  heart  enough.  He  stooped  again  to 
lift  the  body  in  his  arms,  but  as  he  did  so  he  started. 
It  almost  seemed  to  him  as  if  there  was  life  yet 
present.  He  placed  his  hand  over  the  region  of 
the  heart;  he  could  feel  nothing,  but  his  studies 
had  not  been  confined  to  law.  In  his  wild  days 
some  of  his  boon  companions  had  been  students  of 
medicine,  and  from  them  he  had  picked  up  many 
a  rough-and-ready  hint.  He  turned  the  body  round 
again,  so  that  the  heart  would  fall  against  the  ribs, 
and  this  time  there  could  be  no  doubt.  It  still 
beat,  feebly  it  is  true,  but  there  was  yet  pulsation. 
At  the  wrist  he  could  detect  no  sign  of  life. 
He  passed  his  hand  in  front  of  the  mouth,  and 
there  was  no  breath-stream  to  be  felt ;  the  face 
was  icy  cold,  the  eyes  closed,  but  it  mattered 
not. 

To  his  joy  he  remembered  that  the  day  before, 
when  starting  off  for  the  caves,  he  had  slipped  a 
brandy-flask  into  his  coat-pocket.  It  was  there 
now.  He  unscrewed  the  top,  and  forced  some  of 
the  contents  between  the  teeth.  He  had  little  hope 
of  saving  the  woman,  but  none  the  less,  he  resolved 
to  spare  no  effort.  It  was  fortunate  that  she  had 
lain  face  downwards.  If  she  had  been  upon  her 
back,  it  is  probable  her  tongue  would  have  choked 
her.  This  Neil  Darroch  knew.  He  knew  also  that 
she  must  have  been  strong  and  healthy,  otherwise 
she  would  never  have  survived  so  long.  As  it  was, 
he  could  scarcely  credit  that  she  had  been  washed 
3 


34  VENGEANCE   IS  MINE 

from  the  ship's  decks  to  such  a  place,  and  yet  her 
hair  was  damp  with  more  than  the  sea-fog ;  her 
clothes  were  crusted  with  the  sea-salt.  He  knelt 
beside  her,  and  chafed  her  hands.  He  poured  more 
brandy  into  her  mouth,  but  it  merely  lodged  there, 
and  trickled  from  the  corners  of  her  lips.  He  set 
to  work  and  moved  her  arms  and  rolled  her  upon 
her  side  in  the  way  he  had  been  told  was  customary 
in  such  cases.  Then  he  remembered  there  had  been 
no  froth  about  her  lips.  It  was  possible  she  was 
dying  more  of  cold  and  exposure  than  of  water- 
laden  lungs. 

As  soon  as  this  occurred  to  him  he  stripped  off 
some  of  her  clothes,  divested  himself  of  his  ccat 
and  overcoat,  and  wrapped  the  woman  in  them. 
For  half  an  hour  he  continued  his  exertions,  and 
only  then  was  gratified  by  seeing  some  reaction  to 
his  treatment. 

The  woman  stirred,  and  swallowed  some  of  the 
fluid.  The  light  was  so  poor  that  he  could  not  now 
see  more  than  the  outline  of  her  face  ;  he  could  not 
see  if  there  was  any  twitching  of  her  eyelids,  any 
other  sign  of  life.  But  he  did  not  hesitate.  To  let 
her  remain  in  this  cold,  damp  hole  meant  certain 
death.  He  had  no  doubt  that  he  could  find  his 
way  through  the  channel,  and  with  care  it  might  be 
possible  to  shape  a  course  for  the  mouth  of  the 
Whipple,  as  on  the  landward  side  of  the  Stacks  and 
Skerries  there  were  few  isolated  rocks. 

The  smugglers  constituted  a  danger,  but  he  deter- 
mined to  face  it.  In  the  fog  and  gathering  darkness 
it  was  more  than  likely  that  he  would  be  able  to 
give  them  the  slip  if  they  were  still  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. 

Raising  the  woman,  he  carried  her  along  the  ledge, 
and  with  some  difficulty  got  her  into  the  boat. 
Then,  casting  off,  he  pulled  slowly  and  cautiously  for 
the  open  sea.  Once  free  of  the  cave,  he  headed  for 
the  passage,  and  then,  lying  on  his  oars,  listened 


THE  CASTAWAY  35 

intently.  Hearing  nothing  to  alarm  him,  he  bent 
to  his  work,  and  soon  was  clear  of  the  grim  walls 
on  either  side.  To  make  certain  of  gaining  open 
water,  he  continued  rowing  steadily  towards  the 
shore,  and  then,  setting  the  boat's  bow  for  what  he 
thought  was  the  direction  in  which  lay  Shiachan 
and  safety,  he  started  at  full  speed.  He  rowed  well 
and  strongly,  and  his  craft  hissed  and  splashed 
upon  the  long,  smooth  swell  as  she  sprang  forward 
with  fresh  impetus  at  every  stroke. 

For  once  in  his  life  Neil  Darroch  was  in  dead 
earnest.  He  was  set  upon  saving  this  woman  upon 
whom  he  had  stumbled  in  so  remarkable  a  way, 
and  thus,  when  there  came  a  sudden  hail  from 
somewhere  near  him,  and  then  the  measured  beat 
of  oars,  a  very  stern  look  came  into  his  face,  which 
boded  ill  to  any  who  might  interfere  with  him. 
Trusting  to  the  low-lying  mist  and  the  gloom  of 
night,  he  never  paused,  save  to  administer  more 
brandy  to  his  passenger. 

Presently  he  became  aware  that  the  chase  had 
commenced,  and  that  this  other  boat  was  near  him. 
For  a  time  there  would  be  the  sound  of  splashing 
blades  and  a  swishing  keel,  then  a  pause,  and  then 
again  the  noise  of  the  pursuit,  as  the  smugglers  got 
an  inkling  of  his  whereabouts.  There  was  some- 
thing very  curious  in  thus  flying  from  a  foe  which 
could  be  heard  though  not  seen — a  sense  of  exhilara- 
tion in  driving  onwards  into  black  obscurity,  striving 
to  avoid  a  danger  which  was  invisible,  but  none  the 
less  real.  For  a  good  ten  minutes  he  held  his  own, 
fervently  trusting  that  he  was  heading  aright,  and 
taking  care  that  if  he  erred  at  all  it  should  be  in 
the  direction  of  the  shore.  Then  he  became  aware 
that  the  Pitlochie  boat  had  gained  upon  his,  and 
that  they  were  rowing  level,  though  at  some  distance 
apart,  he  being  nearer  the  beach. 

Scarcely  had  this  dawned  on  him  when  the  sound 
of  oars  ceased  yet  again,  and  then  a  black  shape 
3—2 


36  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

came  gliding  towards  him,  while  a   man  standing 
in  the  boat's  bow  called  upon  him  to  heave  to. 

By  way  of  answer  Neil  wrenched  at  his  starboard 
oar ;  his  boat  swung  round  as  though  working  on 
a  pivot,  and  the  smugglers'  craft,  with  half  a  dozen 
men  in  her,  ran  past  astern.  As  she  did  so  Neil 
shipped  one  of  his  oars,  sprang  to  his  feet,  and 
with  the  other  lunged  at  the  figure  in  her  bows. 
Uttering  a  cry  of  alarm,  the  man  tried  to  avert  the 
blow,  lost  his  balance,  and  vanished  backwards  over 
the  gunwale,  while  a  storm  of  curses  burst  from  his 
companions. 

Neil  paid  no  heed,  but,  seeing  they  would  be  some 
time  in  picking  up  their  comrade,  he  took  advantage 
of  their  confusion,  and  was  quickly  out  of  sight. 

'  If  I  was  their  enemy  before,  I  am  doubly  so 
now,'  he  thought,  as  he  laboured  to  put  as  great  a 
stretch  of  sea  between  him  and  them  as  possible. 

In  the  excitement  of  the  chase  he  had  almost 
forgotten  the  woman,  who  lay  motionless  on  the 
planking  at  his  feet. 

'  It  is  worth  while,'  he  muttered,  '  if  it  is  the  price 
of  a  life ;  if  not,  then  I  have  been  a  fool,  that  is  all.' 

Even  supposing  he  had  not  been  recognised,  the 
news  that  he  had  brought  a  woman  ashore,  living 
or  dead,  could  not  be  easily  kept  from  the  men  of 
Pitlochie,  and  then  the  sooner  he  left  Darroch  House 
the  better.  The  smugglers  had  pretty  well  got  to 
the  end  of  their  tether,  and  the  fishermen  believed 
they  would  scatter  in  search  of  more  congenial  soil 
after  Ian  Dafroch's  death ;  but  before  doing  so 
they  would  be  all  the  more  likely  to  take  some  kind 
of  revenge  upon  a  man  who  had  defied  them,  tres- 
passed upon  their  preserves,  and  given  one  of  their 
number  something  to  cool  his  ardour. 

But  Neil  was  too  much  occupied  to  waste  time 
in  uneasy  forebodings.  In  the  excitement  of  his 
encounter  with  the  free-traders,  he  had  lost  all  idea 
of  his  bearings,  and  so  could  only  row  his  hardest 


THE  CASTAWAY  37 

from  the  spot  without  the  vaguest  notion  as  to 
whither  he  was  going.  Happily  for  him  there  soon 
loomed  up  on  his  right  a  dark  mass,  which  he  knew 
must  be  the  cliffs,  while  the  long  boom  of  the  swell 
sounded  in  his  ears.  He  crept  closer,  and  then, 
keeping  along  the  shore,  arrived  off  the  river  mouth 
without  having  heard  anything  more  of  the  smugglers. 

The  tide  was  now  half-full,  and  he  crossed  the 
bar  with  ease,  and  began  to  pull  rapidly  up  stream 
in  the  direction  of  Darroch  House.  It  occurred  to 
him  to  leave  the  castaway  at  one  of  the  fisher 
cottages ;  but  he  dismissed  the  thought,  knowing  she 
would  be  better  tended  by  Teeny,  the  old  house- 
keeper, who  was  both  capable  and  willing,  and  had 
proved  herself  a  faithful  servant  to  Ian  Darroch. 

As  soon  as  the  water  became  so  shallow  that  his 
boat  was  in  danger  of  grounding,  he  ran  her  up  on 
the  bank  and  leaped  out  of  her.  Then,  stooping,  he 
lifted  the  woman  in  his  arms.  That  she  was  recover- 
ing was  evident.  She  struggled  feebly,  and  groaned 
as  if  in  pain. 

'  You  are  safe,'  he  said.  '  Have  no  fear  ;  we'll 
have  you  comfortable  in  a  few  minutes ;'  and  then 
he  set  off  along  the  narrow  path  which  led  from  the 
Whipple  to  the  house  of  Darroch. 

It  was  nearly  pitch-dark  and  a  fine  rain  was 
falling.  His  shirt  was  soaked  with  perspiration  ;  the 
cold  nipped  him  severely  now  that  his  violent 
exercise  was  at  an  end,  but  he  hurried  on,  though 
the  woman  was  no  light  weight.  His  feeling  of 
relief  was  great  when  he  saw  welcome  lights  before 
him.  The  door  was  open  ;  a  man — it  was  his  uncle, 
Monsieur  Deschamps — stood  on  the  threshold  peer- 
ing out  into  the  night.  Neil  could  hear  his  shrill 
voice  while  he  was  yet  twenty  yards  away.  The 
old  Frenchman  was  speaking  rapidly  to  himself,  as 
was  his  way  when  excited. 

'  Qui  va  la !'  he  cried,  as  Neil  with  his  burden 
came  within  the  circle  of  light. 


38  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

'  Ah  !  it  is  you,  Noel.  Where  in  God's  name  have 

you  been,  my  son  ?  The  master  is  worse,  and 

But  what  have  you  there  ?' 

'  It's  a  woman,'  said  Neil  hurriedly — '  a  passenger 
from  the  barque  which  you  remember  was  wrecked 
yesterday.  Go  and  fetch  Teeny,  like  a  good  man  ; 
we  must  get  her  to  bed  at  once.' 

Always  obedient,  Monsieur  Deschamps  shuffled 
away  with  many  expressions  of  surprise,  and  Neil 
was  at  liberty  to  observe  his  prize  more  closely.  He 
looked  at  the  face  nestling  within  the  velvet  collar  of 
his  overcoat. 

'  Humph  !'  said  he,  with  a  little  jerk  of  his  head  ; 
'it  appears  that  she  was  worth  the  saving,  after  all.' 

Teeny,  who  had  been  watching  Ian  Darroch 
wheezing  out  his  life,  now  hurried  forward — a  brisk 
little  woman  with  gray  hair  and  ruddy  cheeks.  She 
had  not  much  English,  but  the  little  she  could  boast 
was  spoken  with  that  soft  Highland  accent  which  is 
both  quaint  and  attractive. 

'  She  will  be  perishing  with  the  cold,  poor  thing  ! 
Yes,  yes,  Mr.  Neil,  leave  her  to  me  now  and  look 
to  yourself.  There  will  be  enough  sick  without 
another.' 

'  Very  well ;  she  will  occupy  my  room,'  said 
Neil. 

'  Permit  me  to  place  mine  at  the  lady's  disposal,' 
said  Monsieur  Deschamps,  with  a  bow  and  a  flourish, 
his  puckered  old  face  lighting  up  with  the  pleasure 
this  chance  of  a  little  gallantry  afforded  him. 

He  had  been  a  stranger  to  the  society  of  any 
woman  save  his  sister,  Teeny,  and  the  fishermen's 
wives  for  nearly  twenty  years. 

*  So  be  it,  uncle,'  answered  Neil,  for  he  did  not 
wish  to  hurt  the  old  man's  feelings,  and,  if  anything, 
his  own  room  was  the  plainer  and  barer  of  the  two. 
'  I  trust  she  may  be  able  to  thank  you  herself  ere 
many  days  have  passed.' 

'  No  thanks  are  due — no  thanks  are  due,'  murmured 


THE  CASTAWAY  39 

Monsieur  Charles,  all  in  a  flutter.  '  She  will,  I  am 
sure,  find  the  place  very  excellent  for  the  health — the 
air  invigorating,  and  the  company,  now  that  you  are 
here,  my  dear  boy,  both  elevating  and ' 

He  stopped  abruptly,  for  Neil  and  the  housekeeper 
had  hurried  off.  With  a  meaningless  smile  and  a 
hand  fumbling  at  his  well-cut  lips,  now  so  void  of 
any  expression  but  a  contented  weakness,  the  old 
fellow  wandered  off  to  the  hall,  a  silk  handkerchief 
dangling  half-way  out  of  his  tail-coat  pocket. 

'  Between  ourselves,'  he  murmured  to  himself  in 
French,  '  it  is  not  a  pleasant  thing  to  have  to  do ;  but 
such  a  visitor  cannot  be  tolerated,  and  the  master 
being  ill,  Noel  must  attend  to  it.' 

He  waited  impatiently  till  Neil,  who  had  seen  that 
everything  which  could  be  done  had  been  done  for 
the  unexpected  visitor,  returned  tired  and  hungry. 

*  Where  is  Geoffrey  ?'  was  his  first  question. 

'  You  refer  to  the  young  man  who  came  here 
several  days  since  ?'  said  Monsieur  Deschamps,  with 
an  air  quite  foreign  to  him. 

'  Of  course,'  answered  Neil.  '  I  have  tried  to 
explain  to  you  that  he  is  my  step-brother.' 

'  I  decline  to  regard  him  as  any  relation,'  said  his 
uncle,  with  such  emphasis  that  Neil  stared  hard  at 
him. 

He  had  never  seen  the  old  man  assume  so  grand  a 
manner,  but  he  recalled  his  varying  moods,  and  only 
smiled  good-naturedly  as  he  replied  : 

'That  is  quite  unnecessary,  sir.  Although  his 
father  and  mine  were  the  same,  it  does  not  entitle 
him  to  the  honour  of  being  one  of  your  family.' 

He  knew  how  susceptible  Monsieur  Deschamps 
was  to  a  little  harmless  flattery,  and  humoured  him 
accordingly. 

'  I  should  disown  him  if  it  did,  for  such  habits  are 
not  to  my  taste.' 

1  Why  ?'  asked  Neil  in  astonishment.  '  What  has 
he  been  doing  now  ?' 


40  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

'  Have  the  goodness  to  follow  me,  Noel,  and  you 
shall  see  for  yourself.' 

He  led  the  way  to  the  room  which  Geoffrey 
Darroch  occupied,  and  threw  open  the  door. 

There  upon  the  floor,  his  handsome  face  flushed, 
his  dress  disordered,  an  empty  brandy-bottle  at  his 
side,  lay  the  heir  of  Darroch  in  the  heavy  sleep  of  a 
drunken  man. 

'  I  feared  as  much,'  said  Neil  quietly.  '  He 
had  the  watery  eye  and  the  high  colour  of  the 
occasional  toper.  Well,  we  must  get  him  to  bed 
also.' 

Having  discharged  what  he  considered  his  duty, 
Monsieur  Deschamps'  fine  airs  vanished,  and  he 
meekly  assisted  in  placing  Geoffrey  Darroch  within 
the  bed-curtains,  where  they  left  him  to  regain  con- 
sciousness and  develop  a  headache. 

When,  later  on,  Neil  was  left  alone,  his  thoughts 
were  far  from  pleasant.  He  saw  trouble  ahead — 
trouble  with  this  brother  of  his  and  with  the  men  of 
Pitlochie  ;  but  when,  wearied  and  worried,  he  fell 
asleep  in  his  chair,  he  was  haunted  by  visions  of 
two  faces,  the  one  dead,  black,  and  hideous,  the 
other  the  most  dainty  and  attractive  he  had  ever 
known. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   CONSPIRATORS 

TWO  men  were  gazing  from  an  upper  window  of 
a  house  in  Paris  at  the  apparently  endless 
succession  of  the  allied  troops  pouring  into 
the  city.     Cossacks  and  cuirassiers,  Prussian  cavalry 
and   Austrian   grenadiers,  foot-guards  and  artillery 
filed  past  below  them.     The  streets  were  thronged 
by  a  silent,  yet  terrified  crowd,  who  now  witnessed 
what  the  oldest  amongst  them  could  not  remember 
— the  humbling  of  the  heart  of  France. 


THE  CONSPIRATORS  41 

Suddenly  at  some  distance  there  arose  a  shout — a 
shout  which  rapidly  grew  in  intensity,  and  finally 
changed  into  repeated  bursts  of  cheering.  Its  import 
was  not  at  first  apparent  to  the  two  men  above,  but 
as  it  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  the  people  upon 
the  pavement  immediately  below  them  took  up  the 
cry  with  wild  enthusiasm  till  it  drowned  the  heavy 
tread  of  the  troops,  the  jingling  of  accoutrements, 
the  rumble  of  cannon. 

'  Long  live  the  Emperor  Alexander  !  Long  live 
our  liberators !'  yelled  the  Parisians ;  and  at  the 
words  the  watchers  withdrew  their  heads,  and  the 
bigger  of  them  slammed  down  the  window  with  such 
violence  that  its  frame  rattled,  and  one  of  its  panes 
was  cracked  across. 

He  was  a  man  who  in  any  company  would  have 
attracted  attention.  Tall  and  very  strongly  built, 
with  coal-black  hair,  swarthy  complexion,  and  a 
commanding  presence,  Carlo  Massoni  was  clearly  not 
one  of  the  common  herd.  His  features  were  good, 
but  his  expression  unpleasant.  He  wore  an  habitual 
scowl,  which  just  then  was  more  apparent  than 
usual. 

'  Do  you  hear  them,  Emile  d'Herbois?'  he  said  to 
his  companion,  with  a  gesture  of  disdain. 

The  latter  nodded,  and  swore  softly  to  himself. 
He  presented  a  marked  contrast  to  the  man  Massoni, 
being  a  short,  slim  creature,  with  a  thin  and  anxious 
face,  his  hair  turning  gray,  though  he  did  not  look 
much  above  fifty.  His  eyes,  light  blue  in  colour, 
were  set  so  closely  in  his  head  that  they  gave  him 
a  sinister  appearance,  while  he  seemed  unable  to 
remain  at  rest,  his  fingers  twitching,  his  feet  moving 
hither  and  thither,  his  whole  body  full  of  a  nervous 
energy.  He  reminded  one  of  a  weasel. 

'  Well,'  said  Massoni  impatiently,  '  and  what  do 
you  think  of  it  all  ?' 

'  Nay,'  answered  the  other ;  '  let  us  first  have  your 
opinion,  Carlo,  my  friend.' 


42  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

'  Cautious  as  ever,  I  see,'  replied  his  companion, 
with  the  suspicion  of  a  sneer.  '  Well,  at  any  rate, 
I,  Carlo  Massoni,  am  not  afraid  to  speak  my  mind. 
My  opinion  is  that  our  time  is  coming.' 

He  flung  himself  into  a  chair,  and  fixed  his  dark 
eyes  on  the  man  before  him,  who  had  begun  pacing 
the  floor  with  quick,  uneven  steps,  but  who  at  his 
words  wheeled  round  and  faced  him. 

'  Very  good,'  said  he,  '  and  the  money,  Carlo  ?  In 
these  days  nothing  can  be  done  without  money.' 

'  True,  there  seems  little  hope  of  raising  it  here 
in  Paris,  at  any  rate.  Yonder  scum  will  dance  to 
anyone  who  will  pipe  to  them.' 

'And  so  shall  yet  dance  to  our  playing.  Is  it 
not  so  ?' 

'  When  we  scatter  coin  as  well,  and  not  till  then.' 

'  But  what  if  I  see  a  way  to  do  so  ?' 

The  other  sprang  to  his  feet. 

'  Do  you  mean  anything,  or  are  you  speaking 
vaguely  ?'  he  cried.  '  Have  you  a  plan  ?' 

'No,'  said  Emile  d'Herbois,  resuming  his  walk; 
'  I  have  no  plan.' 

'  Then  what  the  d ' 

'  I  have  no  plan,  most  impatient  of  men,  but  I 
think  I  have  the  money.  Yes,  I  think  I  can  safely 
say  so.' 

'  You  would  weary  a  saint  with  your  mysteries. 
Can  you  not  come  to  the  point  ?' 

'  I  am  coming,  but  you  will  kindly  allow  me  to 
take  my  own  way  of  getting  there,'  snapped  the 
other,  producing  a  snuff-box,  into  which  he  thrust 
his  long,  thin  nose,  as  if  he  were  a  fowl  dabbing  at 
grain. 

He  sneezed  violently,  and  uttered  a  sigh  of  pleasure. 

'  This  is  a  habit  you  unfortunately  did  not  acquire/ 
he  said,  with  a  cold  smile  ;  '  but  I  can  assure  you  it 
quickens  the  intellect.' 

'  Mine  needs  no  such  aid,  I  am  thankful  to  say.' 

'No,  that  is  true  enough;   a  sedative  would  suit 


THE  CONSPIRATORS  43 

you  better.  You  are  too  impetuous,  too  fiery,  to 
make  a  good  conspirator.' 

'  But  not  too  weak  to  wring  your  neck,  Monsieur 
d'Herbois.' 

'  Precisely,  but  too  wise.  We  do  not  kill  the 
goose  ;  you  know  the  old  saw.' 

'  It  is  these  golden  eggs  I  would  fain  see.' 

'  Then  I  will  be  frank  with  you.  My  sister,  a 
woman  whom  it  is  fortunate  you  never  met,  as  she 
was  possessed  of  considerable  beauty ' 

'  If  you  will  forgive  me  saying  so,  that  is  difficult 
to  realize.' 

4 1  will  not  only  forgive  you,  my  dear  Carlo,  I  will 
explain.  All  the  good  looks  in  our  family  passed 
me  by  and  settled  upon  her  ;  but  come,  we  have 
trifled  with  words  long  enough.  My  sister,  God 
rest  her  soul !  married  an  American,  against  my 
wishes,  it  is  true,  though  the  man  was  a  good 
Republican.  I  foolishly  quarrelled  with  her  over 
this  trifling  matter,  and  now  she  is  lost  to  me.  As 
you  know,  I  am  not  a  man  of  warm  emotions,  like 
you  of  the  sunny  South,  but  all  my  affections  were 
centred  on  this,  my  only  sister,  my  only  near  relative 
in  fact.  Her  husband,  a  very  wealthy  man,  died 
several  years  ago;  but  even  then  I  would  not  forgive 
her.  She  herself  passed  to  her  rest  at  the  close  of 
last  year,  leaving  behind  her  a  daughter,  a  girl  who 
must  now  be  nearly  twenty  years  of  age.  This 
daughter  she  committed  to  my  care,  with  the 
management — you  follow  me,  Carlo? — with  the 
management  of  her  affairs.  Does  this  give  you  a 
clue  ?' 

'  Sapristi !'  exclaimed  the  other;  'it  is  plain  as 
the  nose  on  your  face.  You  put  this  money  to  a 
noble  use.' 

1  Very  good,  but  what  of  the  girl,  my  niece  ?' 

'  I  do  not  think,'  said  Massoni  with  a  coarse 
laugh,  '  that  your  conscience  will  trouble  you  much 
about  the  girl.' 


44  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

'  Indeed  !'  snapped  Monsieur  d'Herbois.  '  Then 
let  me  tell  you  that  you  are  sadly  mistaken.  Had 
this  girl  come  to  me,  not  a  penny  of  her  money 
would  I  have  touched,  save  to  invest  it  for  her,  and 
put  it  to  the  best  advantage;  but  the  girl  has  not 
come.' 

'  Then  where  is  she  ?' 

'  With  her  mother,  I  fear.  Her  ship,  the  Auvergne, 
should  have  reached  Havre  a  month  ago.  She  was 
under  the  captain's  care,  who  was  to  have  seen  her 
safe  in  my  keeping.  Neither  ship,  captain,  nor  niece 
has  been  heard  of  since  they  left  New  York.  From 
incoming  vessels  I  learn  that  there  have  been  heavy 
storms  in  the  Atlantic.  The  Auvergne,  I  believe, 
has  foundered.  In  the  event  of  the  girl's  death  this 
fortune  passes  to  me.  When,  therefore,  I  am  certain 
that  it  is  mine  by  right,  it  will  be  at  the  disposal  of 
our  unhappy  country,  which,  thanks  to  a  tyranny 
worse  than  any  Bourbon's,  is  now  the  prey  of  every 
filthy  foreigner.' 

'  And  when  will  you  be  sure,  Emile  ?' 

'  There  is  no  immediate  hurry.  At  present  we 
must  watch  and  wait.  As  far  as  I  can  see,  those 
who  have  now  the  ordering  of  affairs  will  do  one  of 
three  things  :  they  will  make  peace  with  Napoleon, 
establish  a  regency,  or  restore  Louis.' 

'  Which  will  be  the  more  likely  ?' 

'  The  last,  friend  Carlo,  or  I  am  much  mistaken. 
They  have  the  power  just  now,  and  the  Emperor, 
thank  God  !  is  helpless.' 

'  I  would  he  were  dead !'  cried  the  other  vehe- 
mently. 

'Others  besides  you  will  utter  the  same  wish 
before  we  are  finished  with  him,'  said  d'Herbois. 
'  but  for  our  purpose  a  regency  would  be  the  best. 
No  one  is  ever  satisfied  with  a  Regent,  and  they 
would  soon  learn  to  hail  a  President  and  an 
Assembly  as  a  happy  deliverance.  And  now  what  of 
yourself?' 


THE  CONSPIRATORS  45 

The  question  was  a  natural  one.  These  men  had 
seen  nothing  of  each  other  for  ten  long  years — ten 
years  which  had  sufficed  to  change  the  face  of 
Europe,  which  had  been  amongst  the  most  eventful 
in  the  world's  history. 

Carlo  Massoni  was  a  Corsican,  who,  like  another 
of  that  island,  had  adopted  France  as  his  country 
when  a  mere  lad.  Unlike  that  other,  his  career  had 
been  a  signal  failure.  Of  good  birth,  with  an  ample 
share  of  health,  if  not  of  money,  he  had  quitted  his 
native  mountains,  and  wandered  to  Paris.  Clever, 
but  vicious,  he  had  idled  and  wasted  his  time,  while 
other  men,  grasping  the  chances  that  lay  ready  to 
their  hands,  had  risen  during  the  terrible  epoch 
which  convulsed  the  whole  land,  but  especially  its 
capital.  Eventually  he  became  a  servant  in  the 
famous  Jacobin  club,  and  came  under  the  notice  of 
one  of  its  most  active  members,  a  man  considerably 
older  than  himself,  named  Emile  d'Herbois. 

Emile  d'Herbois  was  of  a  t}'pe  by  no  means 
common  at  that  time.  For  one  thing,  he  was  strictly 
honest  and  disinterested.  He  was  a  Jacobin  be- 
cause he  firmly  believed  that  the  salvation  of  France 
lay  in  a  republican  government,  and  he  devoted  all 
his  talents,  which  were  not  inconsiderable,  to  the 
furtherance  of  his  views.  But  though  honest  him- 
self, he  had  no  scruples  in  making  use  of  any  kind 
of  man  who  might  suit  his  purpose.  He  perceived 
that  Massoni  possessed  just  those  qualities  which  he 
himself  lacked — a  dauntless  courage,  a  fine  physique, 
and  a  recklessness  which,  if  controlled,  might  do 
much.  He  was  able  to  help  this  Corsican  on 
several  occasions,  and  a  friendship  grew  up  between 
them,  never  very  great,  it  is  true,  but  firm  enough  to 
enable  them  to  work  together  harmoniously,  and 
with  a  single  eye  to  the  object  in  view. 

D'Herbois  was  the  master  spirit,  and  where  he 
led  Massoni  followed.  Such  a  combination  of  cun- 
ning and  courage,  of  shrewd  caution  and  heedless 


46  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

daring,  might  have  achieved  great  things,  had  not 
the  shadow  ot  the  First  Consul  blotted  out  all  hopes 
of  a  democracy. 

D'Herbois  accepted  the  situation  with  a  good 
grace.  He  was  one  of  those  men  who  are  content 
to  wait  if  only  they  see  some  chance  of  eventually 
obtaining  their  desires.  Massoni,  hot-blooded  and 
rash,  could  neither  brook  delay  nor  advice.  He 
ventured  to  pit  his  strength  against  that  of  the 
rising  power  and  was  promptly  vanquished.  There- 
after d'Herbois,  who  had  warned  him  in  vain,  lost 
sight  of  him,  but  now  he  had  again  turned  up  at  the 
very  time  that  d'Herbois's  brain  was  once  more 
beginning  to  plot  and  plan. 

The  older  man  had  recognised  Napoleon's  great- 
ness, and  wisely  bowed  before  it,  but  he  had  also 
seen  that  an  Empire  founded  upon  military  power 
and  on  that  alone  was  not  likely  to  be  stable.  It 
had  lasted  longer  than  he  had  thooght  possible,  but 
the  crash  had  come  at  last.  It  was  then  with  a 
genuine  pleasure  that  he  had  stumbled  across  Carlo 
Massoni,  who  had  fallen  upon  evil  days,  and  in- 
habited the  attic  from  which  they  viewed  the  occu- 
pation of  Paris  by  the  three  great  Powers. 

That  pleasure  was  quickly  modified.  This 
Massoni,  as  he  quickly  recognised,  was  not  the  man 
he  had  once  known,  a  youth  with  lofty  ideals  and  a 
high  sense  of  honour,  despite  his  lax  code  of  morals 
and  native  indolence.  The  man  before  him  looked 
like  a  needy  adventurer  consumed  with  ideas  of  re- 
venge. He  doubted  hugely  if  he  could  again  direct 
and  control  him,  but  of  this  doubt  he  showed  never 
a  sign.  Massoni  was  free  and  easy,  but  this  Emile 
d'Herbois  did  not  resent.  He  was  singularly  devoid 
of  personal  conceit  and  was  merely  amused  at  his 
companion's  offhand  manner.  Still,  he  had  need  ot 
help.  Jacobinism  had  changed  with  the  times. 
There  were  few  of  any  importance  who  now  held 
his  opinions ;  and  if  he  was  to  form  a  party,  he  must 


THE  CONSPIRATORS  47 

begin  with  recruits  of  whom   he   knew  something 
and  whom  he  could  trust. 

He  thought  it  wise  to  take  this  man  so  far  into 
his  confidence ;  but  before  going  further,  he  was 
anxious  to  hear  what  had  befallen  him,  and  so  to 
get  an  idea  of  the  changes  ten  years  had  wrought  in 
his  pupil,  hence  his  question. 

'  Sit  down  then  for  Heaven's  sake,  and  drink  a 
glass  of  wine  with  me,  for  you  will  find  it  thirsty 
work  even  listening.  Thank  God  !  I  have  a  pass- 
able bottle  in  the  cupboard  which  I  am  not  ashamed 
to  offer  you.' 

'  No,  I  thank  you.  As  I  grow  older  I  grow  more 
abstemious,  friend  Carlo — a  habit  you  would  do  well 
to  follow.' 

'  Oh,  hang  your  philosophy !  A  short  life  and  a 
merry  one  for  me.  You  are  a  queer  fellow,  Emile  ; 
your  mind  is  placid,  your  body  like  a  restless  spirit, 
while  my  brain  works  like  a  windmill,  and  my  big 
carcass  is  like  a  sloth's,  unless  there  is  something 
on  hand.' 

'  Hence  we  agree ;  but  let  us  have  your  veracious 
narrative.' 

The  story  told  him  was  sufficiently  remarkable. 
Massoni  had  become  a  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the 
earth.  He  had  subsisted  as  a  waiter  in  London,  as 
a  labourer  in  America ;  he  had  voyaged  to  the  savage 
islands  of  the  Pacific  ;  he  had  rubbed  shoulders  with 
all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  and  women. 

He  frankly  confessed  that  since  returning  to 
Europe  he  had  been  engaged  in  several  plots  to 
assassinate  Napoleon,  all  of  which  had  failed. 

As  he  made  this  announcement,  with  something 
of  bravado  in  his  manner,  D'Herbois  shrank  back 
from  him. 

'  You  go  too  far,'  said  he.  '  To  assassinate  is  to 
ruin  your  cause,  besides  being  a  crime  in  the  sight 
of  God  and  man.' 

The  Corsican  gave  a  gruff  laugh. 


48  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

'  There  is  no  God,'  he  said ;  '  and  that  for  what 
man  may  think!' 

He  snapped  his  thumb  and  forefinger  in  the  face 
of  Emile  d'Herbois. 

'  As  for  ruining  a  cause,'  he  went  on,  '  I  was  con- 
sidering myself  alone.  We  have  an  old  feud  with 
the  house  of  Buonaparte,  and  when  he  was  First 
Consul  he  made  a  mock  of  me — of  me,  Carlo  Massoni; 
therefore  I  shall  yet  have  him  at  my  mercy,  and 

then '  He  made  a  gesture  as  of  striking  home 

with  a  dagger. 

D'Herbois  looked  at  him  with  disgust. 

'  Your  morals  have  not  improved  in  a  decade,'  he 
said  briskly ;  '  but  go  on.  How  did  you  fail  ?' 

'  I  will  tell  you,  Emile.  Do  you  remember  a  man 
Gironde — Jules  Gironde,  once  in  the  army,  then  a 
member  of  the  secret  service  ?' 

'  Gironde,'  said  D'Herbois  musingly.  '  What,  a 
little  fat  fellow,  with  a  strut  in  his  walk,  and  eyes 
like  a  hawk  ?' 

'  The  same,  curse  him  !  He  is,  or  was  rather,  as 
sharp  as  a  fish-bone  in  the  throat.  He  is  to  blame 
for  all  my  troubles.' 

'  And  how,  pray  ?' 

'  The  fool  was  devoted  to  his  beloved  Emperor — 
served  him  like  a  dog,  though,  as  far  as  I  can  tell, 
he  got  nothing  in  return,  save  one  of  those  digs  in 
the  paunch  or  slaps  in  the  face  the  great  buffoon 
loves  to  bestow  on  his  veterans,  with  or  without  the 
cross  of  the  Legion.' 

'You  interest  me,'  said  D'Herbois,  coming  to  a 
stop  in  his  walk.  '  Had  Napoleon  more  like  this 
man  about  him,  there  would  have  been  no  chance 
of  a  republic  while  he  and  they  lived.  But  I 
interrupt.' 

'  You  do,'  answered  Massoni  coolly.  '  I  once 
killed  a  Spaniard  for  doing  as  much.  Ay,  you  do 
well  to  turn  pale ;  courage  was  never  a  strong  point 
with  you.' 


THE  CONSPIRATORS  49 

He  tossed  off  a  third  glass  of  wine,  and  glared 
triumphantly  at  the  weak  figure  before  him. 

D'Herbois,  though  he  knew  that  there  was  much 
truth  in  what  the  other  proclaimed  so  brutally, 
showed  no  signs  of  irritation.  He  was  conscious  of 
his  own  failings,  and  acquiesced  in  them.  At  the 
same  time,  he  began  to  wish  that  he  had  not  met  this 
man,  who  was  a  totally  different  being  from  the 
enthusiastic  young  Corsican  of  his  earlier  days.  He 
recognised  that  he  had  been  unwise  in  his  confidences ; 
but  his  soul  had  been  starving  for  someone  to  whom 
he  could  air  his  views,  whose  sympathies  he  could 
enlist  in  carrying  out  the  great  scheme  of  his  life. 
It  was  too  late  to  draw  back  now.  Instinctively  he 
sought  to  cover  his  mistake  by  learning  the  secrets 
of  this  garrulous  and  boastful  bravo. 

'  Courage,'  he  said  quietly,  '  is  greatly  a  matter  of 
health.  I  am  a  dyspeptic.' 

'  And  so  should  Gironde  be  by  this  time,'  said  the 
other  with  a  truly  diabolic  chuckle. 

'  Indeed !' 

1  Yes,  indeed.  He  foiled  me,  as  I  have  told  you ; 
never  mind  how.  I  was  clapped  in  prison  at  Mar- 
seilles, but  I  escaped.  My  liberty  was  brief,  but 
Gironde's  was  still  briefer.  By  the  time  I  was 
caught  and  condemned  to  the  galleys  he  was  on  his 
way  to  Corsica,  where  he  has  been  having  a  pleasant 
time  at  a  little  hill  resort  of  mine.  Yes,  he  has  been 
there,  at  least  most  of  him,  for  five  years.' 

He  made  a  curious  motion  with  his  hands  at  the 
sides  of  his  head,  and  D'Herbois  nodded  shortly. 
He  had  heard  of  the  habits  and  customs  of  Corsican 
brigands. 

'  Gironde,  in  a  way,  owes  his  lease  of  life  to  him- 
self,' continued  Massoni.  '  My  orders  were  that  he 
was  to  be  kept  till  I  returned  and  passed  sentence 
upon  him.  I  expected  then  to  attend  to  him  very 
quickly,  but,  as  the  devil  would  have  it,  I  fell  into 
the  hands  of  the  English.  Do  you  know  what  an 
4 


50  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

English  naval  prison  is  like  ?    No  ? — then  thank  God. 
Look  here,  Emile  d'Herbois.' 

He  stretched  out  a  long  brown  hand,  the  nails  of 
which  were  neither  trimmed  nor  clean,  and  empha- 
sized his  words  by  ticking  them  off  upon  his  ringers. 
'  Three  men,'  said  he,  '  I  hate  upon  this  earth,  and 
in  this  order :  the  first,  Buonaparte,  the  buffoon  ;  the 
second,  Gironde,  the  spy  ;  the  third,  the  Englishman, 
lord  of  heaven  and  the  high  seas,  as  he  thinks  him- 
self. I  am  a  little  revenged  upon  the  last,  for  I  have 
accounted  for  three  of  them  ;  now  I  go  to  settle  with 
Gironde  ;  then  will  come  the  man,  the  devil  rather, 
who  first  stole  from  me  my  love,  then  mocked  me, 
then  chained  me  to  an  oar  and  made  me  what  I  now 
am.' 

He  finished  the  bottle,  and  rose  to  his  feet. 
'  Can  you  spare  me  a  small  sum  ?'  he  asked. 
'  I  can,'  answered  Emile  d'Herbois  ;  '  but  I  do  not 
give  it  for  nothing.' 

'  No,  no,'  said  the  other.  '  With  all  my  faults,  I 
am  a  good  Jacobin  yet,  as  you  shall  find.  There  is 
no  need  of  haste  till  we  see  how  things  go ;  but  before 
I  start  for  Corsica  I  will  find  you  a  man  who  will 
prove  invaluable,  who  knows  Paris  and  everyone  in 
it,  I  verily  believe.  If  this  is  to  bear  fruit  at  all,  we 
must  have  his  aid.' 

'  Again  you  interest  me,'  said  D'Herbois,  pulling 
out  a  purse,  and  laying  a  few  gold  coins  upon  the 
table.  '  This  will  meet  your  immediate  wants  ;  and 
the  man,  what  is  his  name  ?' 

'  His  name  is  Craspinat,'  answered  Massoni — '  and 
he  is  a  beauty,'  he  added  under  his  breath  as  he 
bade  his  visitor  adieu. 

'  Yes,  yes,  my  bomb-maker,'  he  said  to  himself  a 
moment  later,  '  I  have  done  you  a  good  turn  to-day 
and  helped  myself  as  well,  but  it  would  be  awkward 
were  this  girl  to  turn  up.' 

With  that  he  threw  open  the  window,  and  leaning 
out,  watched  the  retreating  figure  of  Emile  d'Herbois. 


A  FAIR  YANKEE  51 


CHAPTER   VI. 

A   FAIR  YANKEE 

THE  day  was  glorious,  the  air  fresh  and  cold, 
with  something  of  a  land  smell  about  it — a 
fine  mellow  odour  as  of  the  turnip-fields 
about  the  Whipple  water,  and  the  breath  of  the 
hills,  now  garbed  in  faded  bracken  and  rough  heather 
out  of  bloom.  There  was  just  a  touch  of  spring  in 
it,  an  earnest  of  bursting  buds  and  lively  sap;  a 
foreshadowing  of  lengthening  days  and  softening 
showers  ;  a  reminder  of  the  advent  of  the  vast 
herring-shoals,  with  their  attendant  and  voracious 
company — little  fox-sharks  and  hideous  dog-fish, 
shimmering,  black-barred  mackerel,  wandering,  huge- 
headed  cod,  blubbery  porpoises,  pig-eyed  dolphins, 
gulls  and  gannets,  and  the  mighty  bottle-nose 
himself  intent  upon  the  fry. 

A  robin,  his  breast  still  sombre-hued,  trilled  out 
his  early  song  from  a  patch  of  bare  bush,  and  shafts 
of  sunlight  played  here  and  there  on  the  old  gray 
walls  and  leaden  turrets  of  Darroch  House. 

But  while  without  all  spoke  of  life  and  action, 
there  was  death  within.  Ian  Darroch  had  gone  to 
his  account,  and  of  all  the  outlawed  men  who  half 
a  century  and  more  ago  had  pushed  off  from  the 
sinking  brig  there  remained  but  one. 

It  was  the  day  of  the  funeral,  and  early  in  the 
morning,  from  far  up  Glen  Dhu,  there  had  come  the 
long  wail  of  drone  and  chanter,  the  pipes  playing 
the  melancholy  pibroch  of  the  broken  clan  as  the 
smugglers  of  Pitlochie  marched  to  do  honour  to  the 
dead. 

Since  the  old  man   had   passed   away  Neil   had 

wondered    if   the    free-traders    would    make   their 

appearance.     Dugald,  the  piper,  he  knew  would  be 

present,  but  he  was  doubtful  about  the  others,  of 

4—2 


52  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

whom  he  had  seen  nothing  since  he  rescued  the 
girl,  who  still  slept  the  sleep  of  exhaustion,  having 
only  wakened  at  long  intervals  to  take  nourish- 
ment, and  immediately  to  seek  again  the  land  of 
dreams. 

It  was  with  a  curious  feeling  of  satisfaction  that 
he  found  every  one  of  the  lawless  crew  gathered 
before  Darroch  House,  waiting  in  silence  to  accom- 
pany the  coffin. 

There  was  no  service.  Geoffrey,  indeed,  had 
expressed  his  surprise  at  the  absence  of  '  the 
Church,'  as  he  called  it,  but  was  wise  and  sober 
enough  to  see  that  any  religious  ceremony  would 
have  been  a  little  incongruous.  Neil  was  certain 
that  the  minister  of  Portroy  would  flatly  refuse  to 
officiate  if  asked,  for  on  his  last  visit  to  Darroch 
the  grim  old  Jacobite  had  shown  him  the  door  with 
but  scant  ceremony. 

So  Ian  Darroch  was  buried  without  book  or  bell, 
and  though  Neil  was  in  a  manner  grieved  at  his 
loss,  the  only  signs  of  sorrow  came  from  Teeny  and 
Monsieur  Deschamps.  The  gloom  and  dismal  pre- 
parations appealed  powerfully  to  the  latter,  and, 
unable  to  control  himself,  he  wandered  about  with 
red  eyes  and  a  quivering  lip,  shaking  his  head  as  if 
he  had  lost  his  dearest  friend,  instead  of  a  man  who, 
till  he  grew  so  feeble  that  he  was  confined  to  one 
room,  had  very  nearly  terrified  the  poor  old  French- 
man into  a  hopeless  idiocy. 

As  the  little  procession  formed,  the  smugglers  fell 
in  before  the  fishermen,  and  though  Neil  noticed 
that  this  gave  rise  to  some  wrangling,  he  did  not 
interfere.  Indeed,  he  could  not  help  feeling  it  was 
but  fitting,  for  the  fishermen  were  decent,  hard- 
working folk,  who  had  nothing  in  common  with  the 
man  whose  strange,  embittered  life  had  at  last  come 
to  an  end. 

He  was  relieved  to  find  that  the  free-traders  paid 
no  special  attention  to  him,  though  had  he  heard 


A  FAIR  YANKEE  <3 

their  talk,  he  would  have  found  good  reason  for 
anxiety. 

All  such  thoughts,  however,  were  driven  out  of 
his  head  as,  after  a  preliminary  blast,  the  pipes  burst 
into  a  coronach. 

The  deep  sonorous  hum  of  the  death  music 
sounded  like  a  moaning  for  the  dead,  rising  now 
and  then  to  a  shriek  of  sorrow,  as  a  higher  note 
quavered  on  the  reeds,  anon  falling  to  a  low  tremu- 
lous wail  with  a  wild  peal  sobbing  through  it  all  the 
time,  and  mingling  with  the  dismal  groaning  of  the 
drones.  The  tears  sprang  to  Neil's  eyes  at  the 
sound.  It  was  not  so  much  that  he  grieved  for  the 
old  man,  but  the  sad  song  of  the  pipes  made  him 
think  of  the  many  times  he  who  lay  in  the  coffin 
had  heard  such  music,  had  heard  also  other  pibrochs 
— the  full  swelling  skirl  and  defiant  blast  of  the  great 
war-pipes,  telling  of  the  glory  of  the  clans,  a  glory 
long  since  faded  ;  the  quick  martial  music  of  the 
gathering ;  the  loud  imperious  summons  to  the 
charge.  He  had  inherited  a  sensitive  nature,  his 
imagination  was  vivid,  and  he  thrilled  all  over  as  he 
kept  time  to  the  Highland  dirge. 

Although  he  knew  it  not,  another  who  heard  it 
for  the  first  time  was  gazing  in  wonder  at  the  scene 
before  her. 

Earlier  in  the  day  a  stray  sunbeam  had  made 
its  way  into  a  room  which  faced  the  south.  It  had 
fallen  on  a  firm  little  chin,  under  which  the  sheet 
was  tightly  tucked,  had  kissed  a  pair  of  rosy  lips, 
had  played  upon  a  delicate  and  finely-shaped  nose, 
and  rested  at  length  on  a  pair  of  closed  eyelids,  from 
which  long  dark  lashes  drooped  upon  a  fair  white 
skin.  Its  light  spread  till  it  touched  a  smooth, 
broad  forehead,  and  picked  out  strands  of  bronze  in 
a  mass  of  dark  hair,  which  streamed  in  wild  con- 
fusion upon  the  pillow.  It  came  and  went,  growing 
stronger,  till  the  sleeper  stirred  and  opened  a  pair 
of  hazel  eyes,  which  blinked,  being  yet  heavy  with  a 


54  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

long  slumber  and  dazzled  by  the  gleam  upon  them. 
But  the  sun  was  not  to  be  denied.  Already  the 
world  outside  had  wakened  under  his  influence ; 
birds  had  long  been  twittering  cheerily,  and  all 
Nature  had  owned  his  sway.  He  was  not  going  to 
fail  with  this  dainty  damsel.  Her  pallor  was  gone  ; 
she  had  regained  her  strength  and  vigour,  and  it 
was  time  she  was  up  and  about. 

Presently  she  uttered  a  sigh  of  content,  stretched 
out  her  arms,  and  then  raised  herself  upon  one 
elbow.  She  looked  about  her  in  bewilderment. 
Where  was  she  ?  What  had  happened  ?  She  lay 
back  again,  and  from  the  frown  which  gathered  on 
her  brow,  seemed  to  be  thinking  deeply.  Then  she 
gave  a  low  cry,  and  sat  up,  staring  wildly  about  her. 

The  memory  of  a  helpless  ship,  an  angry  sea  and 
cruel  black  rocks  had  come  to  her.  She  shut  her 
eyes  tightly,  and  pressed  one  hand  upon  them,  as  if 
to  blot  out  a  vision  of  drowning  men  and  utter 
destruction. 

The  roar  of  mighty  waters  was  in  her  ears,  tl.e 
despairing  shrieks  of  the  drowned,  the  rending  and 
splitting  of  stout  planks.  Again  she  saw  men 
squirming  beneath  heavy  masts,  and  sucked  out  of 
sight  like  flies  above  a  sink  outlet.  They  had 
perished,  but  she  had  survived. 

She  recalled  event  after  event  of  that  terrible 
night,  which  she  had  come  to  regard  as  her  last  on 
earth,  and  of  that  still  more  terrible  morning  when 
a  helpless  wreck  strove  to  beat  off  an  iron-bound 
coast,  and  was  driven  to  her  fate.  Now  she  re- 
membered how,  as  she  clung  to  the  stump  of  a 
mast,  to  which  she  had  been  lashed,  her  black 
servant  had  cut  her  loose  and  struggled  ashore  with 
her,  battling  with  heavy  seas  on  a  narrow  rock 
ledge,  fighting  with  all  his  giant  strength  through 
spray  and  blinding  sheets  of  foam,  clinging  to  a 
spar  wedged  between  ship  and  rock,  and  alone 
affording  a  chance  of  life. 


A  FAIR  YANKEE  55 

She  had  been  half-dead  with  fear  and  cold,  but 
she  could  dimly  remember  the  sudden  rush  he  had 
made  for  safety ;  how  they  had  gained  a  huge  hollow 
out  of  the  reach  of  the  cruel  sea,  and  how,  in  spite 
of  her  entreaties,  he  had  left  her  with  a  '  Cheer  up, 
Missy  Kate,'  and  gone  back  to  aid  the  others.  Then 
had  come  the  dread  suspense,  the  long  crouching 
and  waiting,  drenched  and  helpless,  the  roar  of 
waves  sweeping  below  her  the  sole  answer  to  her 
piteous  cries,  the  sudden  faintness,  and  then  a 
blank. 

She  must  have  been  found  and  brought  to  the 
land.  What,  then,  had  become  of  the  others — of 
the  faithful  Joe,  of  the  kindly  French  seamen,  who 
had  done  their  best  to  keep  up  her  spirits  as  disaster 
after  disaster  befell  the  A  uvergne  ? 

Again  she  looked  about  her.  All  was  strange : 
this  low-roofed  room,  with  its  deep-set  windows, 
and  its  walls  bare,  except  for  a  couple  of  crossed 
swords.  Save  for  the  dancing  light,  it  was  com- 
fortless and  was  poorly  furnished.  She  must  be  in  a 
foreign  country.  Was  it  France  ?  she  asked  her- 
self. The  sailors  had  not  been  able  to  tell  her  what 
that  long,  surf-frilled  coast-line  was  which  the  day 
disclosed  to  their  wearied,  hopeless  eyes.  All  reckon- 
ing had  been  lost.  The  good  captain  had  been 
washed  overboard,  his  first  mate  killed  by  a  falling 
spar,  and  so,  buffeted  and  bruised,  the  Auvergne 
had  laboured  and  drifted,  a  plaything  of  the  angry 
deep. 

She  thought  of  it  all,  then,  hiding  her  face  in  the 
pillow,  sobbed  quietly  to  herself.  But  she  was 
young  and  brave,  and  so  she  presently  ceased  weep- 
ing, and  once  more  took  stock  of  her  surroundings. 
There  was  no  bell  by  which  to  summon  anyone, 
but  on  a  chair  she  noticed  a  pile  of  neatly-folded 
clothes. 

She  rose,  but  a  fit  of  weakness  came  upon  her, 
and  she  was  fain  to  sit  down.  It  passed  quickly; 


56  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

then,  as  she  regained  her  feet,  she  heard  a  sound 
which  made  her  hurry  to  the  window.  It  was  of  a 
nature  not  altogether  foreign  to  her.  In  a  little 
American  town  she  had  heard  the  like  as  a  body  of 
British  troops  passed  through  it  during  a  retreat  on 
Canada. 

She  recognised  the  music  of  the  Highland  pipes. 
Then  a  great  fear  came  upon  her :  she  was  in  an 
enemy's  country.  War  had  still  been  waging  when 
the  Auvergne  had  sailed,  and  she  remembered  the 
danger  she  ran  even  in  a  French  ship,  and  the  sharp 
look-out  that  had  been  kept  for  English  frigates. 

Clever  and  sharp-witted  though  she  was,  her 
knowledge  of  the  world  was  of  the  slightest,  and 
she  had  no  idea  as  to  what  might  be  done  with  her. 
She  assured  herself  that  no  one  was  likely  to  harm 
a  helpless  girl ;  but  it  was  a  timid  enough  face  that 
peered  through  the  tiny  panes  of  coarse  glass.  She 
had  half  expected  to  see  soldiers  in  red  coats,  with 
bare  knees,  and  feather  bonnets.  What  did  meet 
her  gaze  was  a  coffin,  borne  shoulder  high,  and 
followed  by  a  group  of  rugged-looking  men,  who 
tramped  behind  it  without  any  sort  of  order.  They 
passed  out  of  sight  even  as  she  watched  them,  and 
nothing  remained  but  a  stretch  of  bare  hilly  country, 
a  piece  of  meadow-land,  and  a  glimpse  of  sparkling 
sea. 

She  shrank  back,  asking  herself  who  was  this 
they  carried  to  the  grave.  Could  it  be  one  of  the 
Auvergne's  crew,  or  was  it  black  Joe?  How  long 
was  it  since  the  shipwreck  ? 

As  no  answer  was  forthcoming,  she  turned  her 
attention  to  the  clothes.  They  were  not  such  as 
she  had  baen  accustomed  to  wear.  This,  as  she 
was  to  know  later,  was  not  Teeny's  fault.  That 
good  woman  had  intended  to  lay  out  a  dress  which 
had  belonged  to  the  gentle  Frenchwoman  who  was 
remembered  in  Shiachan  as  '  Madame,'  and  who 
slept  in  the  little  hillside  kirkyard  to  which  they 


A  FAIR  YANKEE  57 

were  bearing  Ian  Darroch,  in  the  spot  marked  by 
rusty  iron  railings,  close  to  the  ruins  of  an  old 
chapel,  which  was  sacred  to  the  house  of  the  Oak, 
for  such  was  the  symbol  of  the  Clan  Darroch. 
But  Madame's  clothes  had  suffered  sadly  through 
moths  and  damp,  and  so  what  Kate  Ingleby  found 
set  aside  for  her  was  the  Sunday  dress  of  one  of 
the  fishermen's  daughters,  the  housekeeper's  niece, 
who  was  in  service  in  Glasgow. 

Neil,  at  Teeny's  instigation,  had  borrowed  it,  and 
though  a  new  style  of  garment  to  the  forlorn  girl, 
there  was  no  doubt  it  was  becoming.  The  fisher- 
lass  had  been  something  of  a  belle  in  her  way,  and 
had  been  wont  to  turn  the  heads  of  the  lads  in 
Portroy  when  attired  in  a  coat  and  short  skirt  of 
dark  blue,  a  spotted  kerchief,  bright  red  stockings, 
and  neat  broad-toed  and  buckled  shoes. 

But  though  this  castaway  gave  to  the  dress  an 
air  which  it  lacked  even  when  worn  by  the  pretty 
Flora,  she  was  too  sad  at  heart,  too  doubtful  of  her 
future,  to  think  much  of  her  appearance  ;  and  in 
any  case,  there  was  nothing  but  a  small  hand-glass 
in  which  to  survey  herself.  With  a  natural  and 
careless  grace  she  coiled  the  lustrous  masses  of  her 
hair  about  her  head,  and  after  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion opened  the  door.  A  narrow  stair  led  down- 
wards, joining  another  at  right  angles,  and  de- 
scending both  without  meeting  a  soul,  or  hearing 
anything  but  the  solemn  ticking  of  a  clock,  she 
found  her  way  into  another  room — a  long,  low 
chamber,  hung  with  a  few  portraits  and  prints,  and 
heavily-curtained  at  the  window. 

For  all  that,  she  had  been  watched.  Monsieur 
Deschamps,  who  had  been  left  behind  to  mop  his 
eyes,  and  lament  he  knew  not  what,  had  heard  her 
light  footstep,  and  hastening  to  the  door  of  the  hall, 
had  seen  her  enter  the  '  living  room,'  as  it  was  called. 

Her  appearance  greatly  excited  him.  His  vague 
sorrow  forgotten,  he  hurried  off  to  Neil's  room, 


58  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

which  he  now  occupied,  and  to  which  his  few 
belongings  had  been  transferred.  There,  from  the 
depths  of  a  huge  box,  he  extracted  all  the  finery  he 
possessed  in  the  world. 

With  trembling  hands  he  got  himself  into  a  suit 
well  nigh  as  ancient  as  himself,  and  despite  its  faded 
colours,  still  sufficiently  remarkable  for  a  day  when 
men  were  turning  to  less  gaudy  and  more  serviceable 
clothing.  It  was  a  Court  dress  of  the  period  of  the 
unfortunate  Louis,  who  more  than  expiated  his  own 
faults,  if  not  those  of  his  predecessors,  in  the  Place 
de  la  Revolution. 

Poor  Charles  Deschamps  was  no  longer  the  man 
he  had  been  when  he  last  donned  such  gay  attire. 
His  coat  of  yellow  satin,  embroidered  at  the 
pockets,  hung  loosely  on  his  withered  frame;  his 
waistcoat,  of  a  delicate  pink,  no  longer  fitted  him 
elegantly ;  his  white  knee  -  breeches  would  at  the 
buckles  have  passed  twice  round  his  shrunken  legs. 
He  had  but  the  one  pair  of  silk  pumps,  and  took  such 
pride  in  his  slippers — the  gift  and  work  of  Teeny, 
and  the  only  present  made  him  for  many  a  year,  till 
Neil  brought  him  a  treasured  snuff-box — that  he  re- 
tained these  wondrous  things  of  wool  and  beads; 
and  so,  having  arranged  his  queue  and  sighed  over 
the  want  of  powder,  he  made  his  way  down  the 
stairs,  lace  handkerchief  in  hand,  and  a  bright  flush 
on  either  cheek,  surely  as  queer  a  figure  as  Darroch 
House,  in  all  its  history,  had  held. 

Such  was  the  apparition  which  suddenly  appeared 
before  the  astonished  American  girl.  She  stood 
silent  and  amazed,  as  this  gorgeously-arrayed  old 
man  advanced  in  a  series  of  short  steps  with  multi- 
tudinous bows  and  flourishes. 

'  I  trust  I  see  you  recovered,'  was  what  he  said. 
'You  will  find  the  air  excellent,  and  my  nephew 
being  present,  the  company  agreeable,' 

'  I  thank  you,  sir,'  she  managed  to  stammer  out, 
'  I  am  very  well.' 


A  FAIR  YANKEE  59 

*  Believe  me,  I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  it/  he 
answered  with  yet  another  bow.  '  Allow  me  to  have 
the  honour  of  making  my  introduction — Charles 
Deschamps,  and  at  your  service.' 

'  You  are  French  !'  she  cried. 

'  But  yes/  he  replied,  '  is  it  possible  I  see  before 
me  a  countrywoman  ?' 

'  My  mother  was  from  France.' 

So  far  the  old  beau  had  behaved  in  the  most  ex- 
emplary manner,  but  at  this  piece  of  information 
his  wits  deserted  him.  His  language  and  gestures 
became  extravagant ;  he  laughed  shrilly  and  per- 
formed a  little  dance,  skipping  this  way  and  that, 
till  the  girl  could  no  longer  doubt  that  he  was 
insane. 

She  hastily  retreated  behind  one  of  the  curtains, 
but  he  did  not  appear  to  notice  this  movement  on 
her  part,  pirouetting  about  and  babbling  to  himself. 

In  the  midst  of  his  performance  the  door  was 
thrown  open,  and  Geoffrey  Darroch  entered. 

'  Good  God  !'  was  his  first  exclamation,  as  his  eye 
lit  on  the  figure  before  him.  He  crossed  the  room 
and  shook  the  old  Frenchman  roughly  by  the  arm. 

'  Come,  come/  said  he,  '  you  have  more  sense 
than  to  behave  like  this.  Bless  me,  but  you  are 

like  a  d d  parrot !  Quit  this  silly  nonsense,  and 

put  on  decent  clothes,  you  fool !' 

His  words,  and  still  more  his  action,  had  an 
instant  effect. 

Monsieur  Deschamps  seemed  to  collapse  at  once. 
He  stood  limp  and  almost  whimpering  with  fear,  as 
had  been  his  way  when  Ian  Darroch  ill-used  him, 
and  then  slunk  towards  the  door. 

Just  then,  however,  Neil,  who  had  been  giving 
necessary  orders  for  the  usual  drinking  which  in 
those  days  was  inseparable  from  a  funeral  in  any 
part  of  Scotland,  followed  his  brother,  and  at  a 
glance  saw  how  matters  stood,  and  noticed  how 
his  uncle's  pitiful  face  brightened  at  his  appearance. 


60  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

'  You  have  scared  him,'  he  said  almost  angrily,  as 
the  old  man  disappeared. 

'  The  deuce  take  it !'  said  Geoffrey.  '  It  was  too 
much  to  come  back  from  such  a  function  and  find 
him  capering  like  a  painted  monkey.  Gad !  you 
should  have  seen  him.  I  had  either  to  shake  him 
up  a  bit,  or  die  of  laughing  myself.' 

'  Well,  well,'  answered  Neil,  somewhat  mollified, 
'you  must  remember  he  cannot  help  himself.  No 
doubt  he  got  himself  up  in  honour  of  the  girl.' 

'  Like  enough,  sir,  though  it  was  a  devilish  queer 
notion ;  but,  by  the  way,  how  is  our  visitor  ?' 

'  She  was  still  asleep  this  morning,  but  from  what 
Teeny  says,  she  will  do  now,  I  think.' 

'  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,  'pon  honour  I  am  ;  she  will 
liven  up  this  dull  hole,  I  hope.  Has  she  any  looks 
to  commend  her  ?' 

'  You  had  best  judge  for  yourself,  sir,'  said  a  quiet 
but  angry  voice. 

Had  a  thunderbolt  descended  at  their  feet  the  two 
men  could  not  have  been  more  surprised. 

They  turned  sharply  and  confronted  the  girl, 
who  had  stepped  out  from  her  place  of  conceal- 
ment. 

Geoffrey,  man  about  town  though  he  was,  did 
nothing  but  deliver  himself  of  sundry  ejaculations, 
neither  remarkable  for  wit  nor  politeness.  His 
brother,  who  was  rarely  at  a  loss  for  words,  whose 
training  had  been  such  that  he  was  not  easily  taken 
unawares,  was  the  first  to  speak.  His  quick  ear  had 
recognised  her  accent,  even  though  it  was  not 
specially  pronounced. 

'  Pardon  me,'  said  he  quickly,  with  a  short  bow, 
'  but  I  think  I  see  before  me  an  American  ?' 

'  Yes,'  she  answered,  and  as  he  thought  defiantly, 
'  I  am  from  the  States.' 

'  Oh,  indeed !'  said  he,  his  face  screwed  up  and 
one  eye  half  closed,  a  manner  he  adopted  when 
examining  a  witness.  '  Then  it  is  my  duty  to  warn 


A  FAIR  YANKEE  61 

you  that  anything  you  may  say  will  be  taken  as 
evidence  against  you.' 

He  spoke  merely  in  jest,  but  what  prompted  him 
to  greet  her  in  so  peculiar  a  manner  he  did  not 
himself  quite  know.  It  may  have  been  that  he  dis- 
liked Americans,  and  without  any  good  reason.  He 
had  met  very  few  of  them,  and  was  one  of  the  many 
who  recognised  that  in  the  War  of  Independence  they 
had  been  in  the  right,  while  even  in  the  present 
struggle  he  regarded  them  as  more  sinned  against 
than  sinning,  as  having  been  forced  into  a  contest 
clearly  distasteful  to  them.  Still,  Neil,  who  was 
more  of  a  Briton  than  he  himself  imagined,  had 
been  profoundly  disgusted  at  the  despised  Yankees' 
brilliant  victories  at  sea,  and  felt  somewhat  bitter  at 
this  upstart  race,  who  dared  dispute  supremacy 
with  the  old  country,  even  on  her  own  hunting- 
grounds. 

This  feeling  may  have  influenced  him,  and  in 
addition  he  was  old-fashioned,  and  had  his  own 
ideas  as  to  woman's  place  and  behaviour.  The  girl's 
method  of  introducing  herself  seemed  both  forward 
and  impertinent  to  him. 

A  moment  later  he  was  sorry  for  his  words,  as  he 
remembered  all  she  had  passed  through — her  provo- 
cation, and  saw  the  fear  and  doubt  come  into  her 
eyes,  even  though  her  face  was  in  the  shade.  She 
evidently  misunderstood  him,  but  she  could  defend 
herself. 

'  You  do  not  make  war  on  women,  do  you  ?'  she 
asked,  with  a  quiver  of  scorn  in  her  voice.  '  Even 
in  the  days  we  beat  you  I  have  been  told  that  was 
left  to  the  Hessians.  The  English,  I  believe,  are 
gentlemen.' 

Geoffrey,  who  fully  appreciated  her  answer, 
laughed  long  and  loudly.  Neil,  vastly  amused, 
though  a  trifle  irritated,  fumbled  for  his  quizzing- 
glass,  and  through  it  scrutinized  the  figure  before 


62  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

'You  are  not  in  England,  however,'  he  said  sharply. 

'  Which  no  doubt  accounts  for  your  presence,' 
was  her  retort. 

Ha  smiled  amiably.  He  was  beginning  to  enjoy 
this  encounter,  and  had  evidently  found  a  worthy 
antagonist,  but  neither  place  nor  time  was  fitted  for 
a  fence  with  tongues. 

'  Allow  me  to  express  my  admiration  for  your  gift 
of  repartee,'  he  answered  courteously.  '  I  trust  at 
a  later  period  we  may  resume  our  conversation 
where  now  we  leave  off.' 

'  And  high  time,  too,'  broke  in  his  brother.  '  Split- 
ting hairs,  I  call  it.  If  it  is  not  England  by  name, 
it's  a  part  of  England,  so ' 

'  Pardon  me,'  interrupted  Neil  with  a  sudden  stern- 
ness, 'you  are  entirely  in  error  ;  this  is  Scotland,  has 
ever  been  Scotland,  and  will  continue  so,  as  you,  the 
representative  of  an  old  Highland  family,  should  be 
the  first  to  acknowledge  and  hope.' 

'  Tut,  tut !'  said  Geoffrey  impatiently,  *  You 
weary  the  lady,  who  I  am  pleased  to  see  has 
recovered.' 

'  I  also,'  said  Neil,  '  would  compliment  you  on 
being  able  to  rise  unassisted.  I  fear  my  worthy 
uncle  somewhat  frightened  you.  Poor  old  man  !  You 
understand  ?'  He  tapped  his  forehead.  '  But  he  is 
perfectly  harmless.' 

'  I  was  not  afraid,'  replied  the  girl  simply,  yet 
not  quite  truthfully. 

'  Exactly ;  but  the  curtain  was  no  doubt  useful.' 

'  I  do  think,'  said  she,  '  that  you  are  very  cruel.' 

The  nasal  drawl,  rather  pleasing  than  otherwise, 
was  more  evident  now  that  she  was  roused. 

'  And  so  do  I !'  said  Geoffrey  hotly.  '  I  am  sur- 
prised at  you,  Mr.  Darroch.' 

Neil  was  surprised  at  himself,  but  his  was  one  of 
those  contrary  natures  which  often  say  and  do  the 
very  opposite  of  what  they  mean  and  intend. 

'  I  should  be  truly  sorry  to  earn  your  bad  opinion/ 


A  FAIR  YANKEE  63 

he  answered,  ignoring  his  brother,  and  addressing 
himself  to  the  girl,  whose  face  had  haunted  him  ever 
since  he  had  carried  her  to  Monsieur  Deschamps* 

room.     '  Miss ?'  he  paused. 

'  My  name  is  Ingleby — Kate  Ingleby.' 
'  Thank  you.     Miss  Ingleby,  I  suppose,  is  to  con- 
sider   herself  your  guest?'   he   added,   turning   to 
Geoffrey. 

'  Of  course,  sir,  of  course.  You  see ' — and  the 
latter  went  on  to  explain  how  matters  stood. 
'  Dinner  will  soon  be  served,  when  we  hope  to 
hear  your  story,  if  such  be  your  pleasure,'  he  con- 
cluded. '  Till  then  you  will  find  the  hall  more 
comfortable.  Allow  me  to  offer  you  my  arm  ;'  and, 
escorted  by  the  new  Laird  of  Darroch,  Kate  Ingleby 
passed  from  the  room,  while  Neil  followed  them, 
cool  as  ever  to  all  appearance,  but  inwardly  raging 
at  himself,  at  his  step-brother,  and  even  at  this  fair 
but  self-possessed  American  lass,  for  whose  presence 
in  Darroch  House  he  alone  was  responsible. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   RIVALS 

MORE  than  a  week  had  passed,  and  Kate 
Ingleby  was  still  an  inmate  of  Darroch 
House.  She  could  not  resume  her  journey 
unprotected,  and  neither  brother  was  in  a  position 
to  accompany  her  till  after  the  visit  of  the  lawyer 
who  had  control  of  Ian  Darroch's  affairs.  That 
wily  old  fox  had  long  ago  got  himself  confirmed  in 
the  possession  of  his  forfeited  estate.  He  had 
waited  till  his  precious  escapade  was  forgotten,  and 
then  managed  by  legal  aid  to  have  his  rights  and 
privileges  restored  to  him.  But  in  those  days 
Kintyre  and  the  western  isles  were  nearly  as  far 
from  civilization  as  is  St.  Kilda  at  the  present  time. 


64  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

and  though  Mr.  Quill,  of  the  firm  of  Quill  and  Driver, 
of  Glasgow,  had  been  apprised  of  his  client's  decease, 
it  might  be  some  time  ere  he  put  in  an  appearance. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  had  started  on  receipt  of  the 
news,  but  had  been  seized  with  illness  on  the  road, 
and  was  further  delayed  by  having  to  return,  owing 
to  pressing  and  important  business.  His  letter  of 
apology  under  any  other  circumstances  would  have 
proved  highly  exasperating  to  both  brothers.  As  it 
was,  neither  regretted  his  tardiness,  as  it  prevented 
their  visitor  setting  off  to  join  her  relatives  in  Paris. 
Both  men  were  already  sorely  smitten  by  her  charms. 
As  for  the  girl  herself,  all  was  so  fresh  and  new  to 
her  that  she  did  not  much  mind  her  enforced  deten- 
tion, and  she  certainly  could  not  complain  of  the 
treatment  accorded  her.  Her  life  had  hitherto  been 
very  peaceful  and  colourless,  for  though  money  was 
at  her  command,  her  mother  had  been  a  fretful 
invalid,  who  could  not  bear  town  life,  and  they  had 
lived  in  retirement.  Kate's  pleasures  had  been  few, 
and  chiefly  confined  to  her  books  and  music.  She 
was  well  read,  and  possessed  considerable  talent. 
Indeed,  she  was  ignorant  of  the  fine  qualities  of  her 
voice,  which,  had  it  been  trained,  might  have  been  a 
fortune  in  itself.  She  sang  like  a  bird — simply, 
unaffectedly,  and  it  was  not  long  before  Neil  dis- 
covered this  and  had  overcome  her  natural  shyness 
at  singing  before  strangers.  There  was  a  spinnet  in 
the  house  which  had  belonged  to  his  dead  mother, 
and  he  had  heard  her  accompanying  herself  upon  it 
to  a  plaintive  negro  melody.  But  ere  this  he  had 
learned  all  she  had  to  tell  about  herself.  With  the 
candour  of  youth  and  of  her  country,  she  had  told 
him  unaffectedly  of  her  father,  a  strong-minded, 
hard-headed  American,  who  on  a  visit  to  Paris  had 
fallen  in  love  with,  and  carried  away  as  his  wife,  the 
bright  and  vivacious  Lucie  d'Herbois.  She  spoke  of 
her  wealth,  of  the  uncle  to  whom  she  had  been  going 
when  disaster  overtook  the  Auvergne.  With  tears 


THE  RIVALS  65 

in  her  fine  eyes  she  recounted  the  perils  of  the 
voyage  and  the  heroism  of  her  faithful  negro  ;  but 
it  was  not  in  her  nature  to  be  sad. 

To  begin  with,  she  was  attracted  by  Geoffrey,  who 
was  essentially  manly,  and  Neil  at  their  first  inter- 
view had  appeared  in  a  very  unpleasant  light.  A 
few  days  sufficed  to  change  her  opinions.  She  had 
known  men  like  Geoffrey  Darroch,  but  had  never 
come  across  anyone  remotely  resembling  the 
younger  brother,  and  the  novel  is  always  interesting. 
Such  men,  spread  tljickly  with  the  varnish  of  re- 
serve, scarcely  existed  in  her  country,  where  life 
was  too  hard,  the  struggle  for  existence  in  a  new 
land  too  absorbing,  to  permit  the  study  of  how  best 
to  cloak  one's  real  feelings  from  the  world,  not  from 
any  shame  or  desire  to  deceive,  but  as  a  method  of 
gaining  self-confidence  and  assuring  originality. 

She  was  puzzled  and,  so  strong  a  factor  is 
woman's  vanity,  a  little  piqued  by  Neil's  cool  in- 
difference, and  his  delight  in  drawing  her  into 
political  discussions  where  she  felt  herself  at  a  loss, 
though  in  reality  she  astonished  the  shrewd  lawyer 
by  her  quick  decision  and  ready  argument. 

What  first  installed  him  in  her  favour  was  the 
fact  that  he,  like  herself,  could  claim  a  French 
origin.  It  was  characteristic  of  him,  however,  after 
acknowledging  this  fact,  to  make  as  little  of  it  as 
possible,  just  as  though  he  regretted  to  find  they 
had  anything  in  common,  whereas  he  was  secretly 
congratulating  himself  on  his  Gallic  descent. 

'  Strange,  is  it  not,  Miss  Ingleby  ?'  he  remarked, 
on  learning  that  her  mother  was  a  Frenchwoman, 
'  that  I  also  owe  my  mother,  who  rests  yonder  on 
the  hillside,  to  my  father's  meeting  with  a  fair 
French  lass.' 

'  Is  that  really  so  ?'  she  said  eagerly  ;  '  then,'  with 
a  roguish  laugh,  '  I  am  not  so  much  an  enemy  as 
you  were  pleased  to  make  out.' 

By  this  time  she  had  learned  that  the  speech 
5 


66  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

which  had  so  incensed  her  was  but  a  harmless 
joke. 

'  I  suppose  so,'  he  answered  gravely ;  '  but  I  ca-nnot 
regard  my  French  connection  as  very  strong.  My 
mother,  on  both  sides  of  her  house,  could  trace  her 
descent  back  to  a  Scottish  ancestry,  to  the  marriage 
of  an  officer  of  Louis  Eleventh's  guard  with  a  young 
Scotchwoman,  who  was  being  educated  in  France.' 

'  Then  I  guess  you  are  not  proud  of  your  French 
origin  ?'  she  said  regretfully. 

He  glanced  at  her  with  a  curious  smile,  which 
changed  into  a  frown  as  his  brother  blundered  into 
the  conversation. 

'  With  all  due  deference  to  you,  Miss  Ingleby,' 
said  Geoffrey  loftily,  '  I  never  saw  much  in  the 
French  myself;  a  vain  and  shallow  race  I  call  'em. 
Of  course,'  he  added  graciously,  '  there  are  excep- 
tions ;  I  speak  of  them  as  a  whole.' 

'  And  you  lie !'  said  a  shrill,  cracked  voice  in 
French,  shaking  with  excitement. 

They  one  and  all  had  forgotten  Monsieur 
Deschamps'  presence,  but  he  was  prepared  to 
champion  his  people.  The  old  man  had  risen  to 
his  feet,  trembling  and  sputtering  with  vehemence. 
His  first  words  were  plain  enough,  but,  mastered  by 
his  passion,  he  poured  out  a  string  of  disconnected 
sentences,  speaking  so  fast,  so  volubly,  that  of  the 
three  who  heard  him,  the  girl  alone  could  catch  his 
meaning. 

Neil  listened  with  astonishment.  This  man  was 
not  the  gentle,  soft-spoken  Charles  Deschamps  of 
his  boyhood.  It  was  plain  that  for  some  reason  or 
other  he  had  conceived  a  great  antipathy  to  Geoffrey 
Darroch.  That  fine  gentleman,  angered  at  being 
thus  bearded  in  presence  of  a  stranger,  rose  suddenly 
without  pausing  to  reflect,  and  ordered  Monsieur 
Deschamps  to  quit  his  table. 

The  old  man,  whose  gust  of  rage  had  passed,  and 
who  was  already  beginning  to  smile  amiably  on 


THE  RIVALS  67 

the  company,  was  once  more  awed  by  Geoffrey's 
harshness,  which  on  this  occasion  was  without 
excuse. 

Rising,  he  was  about  to  do  as  he  was  bid,  for  all 
the  world  like  a  rebellious  child  who  had  become 
scared  and  penitent,  when  Neil  interfered. 

'  Nonsense,'  he  said  decisively  but  cheerily;  'sit 
down,  uncle,  and  eat  your  dinner.' 

Reassured  immediately,  the  old  fellow  resumed 
his  seat  and,  quaintly  enough,  bowed  his  head  and 
asked  a  blessing,  as  if  he  were  just  beginning,  and 
had  no  recollection  of  what  had  passed. 

His  action  prevented  a  storm.  Even  Geoffrey, 
who  had  been  on  the  point  of  asserting  his  authority, 
could  not  forbear  smiling,  and  nothing  more  was 
said,  Neil  adroitly  changing  the  conversation  ;  but 
Kate  Ingleby  saw  and  understood,  and  this  was  her 
first  insight  into  the  characters  of  the  two  men 
into  whose  lives  she  had  come  so  strangely. 

Later,  from  Teeny,  she  learned  the  story  of  her 
rescue,  though  by  no  means  the  whole  story;  and, 
impulsive  and  full  of  gratitude,  she  took  an  early 
opportunity  of  thanking  Neil.  She  met  him  on  the 
road  to  Shiachan,  for  the  fishing  village  had  great 
attractions  for  her,  and  he  confessed  to  himself  that 
she  looked  more  than  pretty  as  she  approached  him. 
The  fresh  but  balmy  sea  air — for  it  was  a  day  like 
that  which  had  graced  Ian  Darroch's  funeral — gave 
colour  to  her  usually  pale  cheeks,  a  colour  which 
was  intensified  by  her  resolve  ;  her  face,  half  hidden 
by  the  great  straw  bonnet  she  wore,  and  which  had 
been  his  mother's,  appeared  to  him  more  charming 
than  ever.  It  was  not  merely  well-shaped,  with  a 
pair  of  eyes  which  could  sparkle  as  finely  as  they 
could  look  dreamy  and  wistful,  with  a  dainty  nose 
and  a  rosebud  of  a  mouth,  but  it  was  full  of  intelli- 
gence ;  her  brow  was  thoughtful,  and  there  was  a 
pleasant  mingling  of  dignity  and  vivacity  in  her 
expression. 
5—2 


68  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

He  told  himself  that  here  one  found  the  charac- 
teristics of  two  nations — the  piquancy  of  the  French, 
and  that  sober  judgment  and  keen  intellect  which 
he  understood  was  characteristic  of  the  women  of 
America,  as  well  as  of  its  sons. 

'  Good-morning,  Miss  Ingleby,'  said  he,  raising 
his  hat  slightly.  '  It  is  a  fine  day,  is  it  not  ?' 

'  It  is,'  she  heartily  concurred.  '  Do  you  know, 
I  thought  that  it  did  nothing  but  rain  here,  Mr. 
Darroch.' 

'  Whiles  it  snows,'  said  Neil,  with  the  faintest 
twinkle  in  his  eye. 

She  looked  puzzled,  but  gave  a  little  nod  of  assent. 

'  I  was  wishing  to  see  you,'  she  went  on  rather 
breathlessly,  for  she  was,  if  anything,  a  trifle  afraid 
of  this  man.  '  You  must  think  me  very  ungrateful.' 

'  I  cannot  say  that  idea  occurred  to  me.' 

*  Perhaps   not  ;    but   all    the   same,    I   have    felt 
horrid!' 

'And  looked  the  reverse,'  said  Neil,  with  an 
attempt  at  gallantry  worthy  of  Charles  Deschamps. 

She  flushed  hotly. 

'  You  make  it  very  hard  for  me,'  she  said  ;  '  but  I 
only  heard  last  night  that  you  had  saved  me.' 

*  I  assure  you,'  said  Neil,  '  it  was  entirely  unin- 
tentional.' 

'No,  but  you  must  have  taken  trouble;  I  know 

I  was  nearly  dead,  and '  She  stopped  confused. 

'  Oh,'  she  cried,  with  a  toss  of  her  head  which 
caused  the  coal-scuttle  upon  it  to  fall  back  on  her 
shoulders,  '  I  cannot  find  the  right  words,  but  you 
know  what  I  mean.' 

'  Yes,  I  know,'  said  Neil,  now  without  a  trace  of 
his  former  levity ;  '  but,  believe  me,  I  did  nothing 
but  what  a  gentleman '  (he  laid  emphasis  on  the 
\vord)  '  would  do.' 

She  saw  his  allusion. 

'  I  am  sorry  I  was  rude,'  she  said ;  '  but  when 
Mr.  Darroch  spoke  I  could  not  help  myself.' 


THE   RIVALS  69 

'  No,'  said  Neil ;  '  Geoffrey  is  not  always  in  the 
best  of  taste,  though,  of  course,  he  was  ignorant  of 
your  presence.' 

'  He  has  been  very  polite  since,'  she  replied  ;  and 
Neil  did  not  like  her  taking  up  the  cudgels  on  his 
brother's  behalf. 

'  Very,'  said  he,  and  again  raising  his  hat,  left 
her  and  continued  his  walk. 

His  abrupt  manner  very  naturally  hurt  the  girl, 
and  she  promptly  went  and  made  herself  most 
gracious  to  the  laird,  who,  anxious  to  appear  well 
in  her  sight — he  remembered  her  account  of  her 
father's  wealth — eschewed  the  bottle,  and  though 
he  grumbled  at  being  forced  to  stay  on  at  Darroch, 
behaved  as  pleasantly  as  his  selfish  and  arrogant 
nature  would  allow.  Geoffrey  Darroch  had  his 
good  points,  for  few  men  are  wholly  bad.  He  was 
weak  rather  than  wicked,  and  certainly  just  then 
he  did  his  best  to  appear  as  a  virtuous  and  respect- 
able member  of  society,  even  if  he  could  not  conceal 
his  dislike  of  Neil  and  Monsieur  Deschamps. 

His  encounter  with  the  latter  had  sensibly 
weakened  his  position  with  Kate  Ingleby.  Once 
she  heard  the  old  Frenchman's  tragic  story,  her 
sympathy  was  roused,  and  sympathy  with  her  meant 
more  than  a  mere  feeling  of  interested  pity.  She 
became  the  old  man's  companion.  To  his  supreme 
delight  she  spoke  with  him  in  French.  He  was 
never  tired  of  conversing  with  her,  and  followed  her 
about  like  a  dog.  Neil  found  himself  supplanted 
in  his  uncle's  affections,  and  inwardly  was  much 
tickled  by  the  old  fellow's  devotion.  He  himself 
was  a  fair  French  scholar,  and  would  sometimes  join 
in  their  chatter,  but  he  had  no  facility  in  the  use  of 
idioms,  and  was  frequently  at  a  loss  to  understand 
them,  much  to  his  uncle's  diversion. 

'  No,  no,'  he  would  say  ;  *  your  accent  is  atrocious ! 
You  spoil  all  the  beauty,  all  the  elegance  ;  but  made- 
moiselle, she  is  wonderful,  and  yet  you  say  she  has 


70  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

not  lived  in  France.  She  is  going ;  ah,  that  is  sad 
for  me !  Only  perhaps  when  I  am  restored  to  health 
I  also  will  return,  and  then  we  shall  have  great 
times.  The  Court,  they  say,  is  the  finest  in  Europe ! 
Yes,  yes,  I  shall  see  it  again !'  and  away  he  would 
go,  humming  to  himself  some  snatch  of  verse  with 
a  catching  chorus  and  but  little  meaning,  which 
perhaps  had  been  in  vogue  when  he  paraded  in  the 
Bois  or  sauntered  in  the  avenues  at  Versailles. 

The  girl's  kindness  to  his  uncle,  who  was  often, 
without  the  least  intending  it,  troublesome  and 
exacting,  was  not  lost  on  such  a  close  observer  as 
Neil  Darroch.  He  admired  her  patience,  and  still 
more  the  brave  way  she  bore  up  under  the  misfor- 
tunes which  had  befallen  her.  She  had  not  been 
beggared,  it  is  true  ;  this  uncle  Emile  of  whom  she 
spoke  had  already  charge  of  the  fortune  left  her  by 
her  father,  but  at  one  fell  swoop  her  own  private 
possessions,  her  wardrobe,  her  trinkets,  those  things 
so  dear  to  every  woman  of  her  age,  had  been  torn 
from  her.  Yet  she  never  harped  upon  her  loss. 
What  grief  she  showed  was  for  her  black  servant, 
whom  Neil  never  mentioned,  but  whose  body  he 
almost  wished  he  had  brought  ashore,  when  he  saw 
the  girl  looking  wistfully  at  the  sea,  with  unshed 
tears  trembling  like  beads  of  dew  upon  her  long 
lashes. 

He  guessed  her  thoughts,  and  knew  well  that  she 
felt  lonely  and  depressed,  but  never  a  word  of  com- 
fort passed  his  lips.  He  was  struggling  with  himself, 
for  was  he  not  a  poor  man,  who  could  speak  no 
word  of  love  to  any  woman,  least  of  all  to  one  who 
was  possessed  of  ample  means  ?  And  yet  she  was 
dependent  on  Geoffrey.  This  was  what  galled  him. 
No  doubt  he  had  written  at  her  request  to  Monsieur 
d'Herbois,  and  knew  that  she  intended  repaying  his 
brother,  for  she  made  no  secret  of  her  wish  to  be 
free  from  any  obligation;  but,  as  things  were, 
Geoffrey  had  some  kind  of  hold  upon  her,  while  he 


THE  RIVALS  71 

himself  was  merely  a  guest,  a  guest  in  the  old  house 
which  had  been  his  home,  and  which  this  Anglicized 
Scot  cared  nothing  about. 

Kate  Ingleby,  however,  was  interested  in  it,  and 
this  constituted  some  bond  of  union  between  them. 
She  never  wearied  of  listening  to  what  he  had  to 
tell  her  of  the  history  of  his  clan,  of  old  Ian 
Darroch,  of  the  Pitlochie  smugglers,  and  even  of 
the  great  rebellion.  Of  himself  he  rarely  spoke, 
and  this  the  girl  was  quick  to  note  and  approve  ; 
Geoffrey,  on  the  other  hand,  was,  if  amusing  and  at 
times  interesting,  distinctly  vainglorious.  His  talk 
ran  on  horses,  on  cards,  duels,  and  prize-fighters — on 
the  fashionable  circles  in  which  he  moved,  and  of 
which,  according  to  himself,  he  was  no  mean 
ornament. 

Neil,  who  from  his  brief  intercourse  with  the  man 
had  thought  him  a  besotted  fool,  was  forced  to  alter 
his  views. 

Geoffrey  Darroch  had  seen  life,  and  knew  how  to 
describe  it.  In  the  company  of  men  with  whom  he 
had  no  tastes  in  common  he  was  dull  and  rude,  but 
with  kindred  spirits  he  was  a  different  being,  and 
the  same  held  true  when  the  spur  of  vanity  goaded 
him  to  exertion.  It  was  so  now,  and  it  is  not  to 
be  wondered  at  that  Kate  Ingleby  found  him  enter- 
taining. His  compliments  were  delicate  enough. 
Strictly  speaking,  he  was  a  more  taking  man  than 
the  quiet,  clean-shaven  advocate,  and  the  American 
knew  nothing  to  his  discredit.  Neil  saw  that  she 
listened  to  his  step-brother  attentively,  and  chafed 
inwardly.  What  he  did  not  see — for  the  cleverest 
men  in  his  condition  are  often  blind — was  that  Kate's 
sharp  eyes  had  penetrated  his  mask,  and  that  she 
was  amusing  herself  at  his  expense. 

She  could  not  help  it ;  she  was  young,  unsophisti- 
cated, full  of  health  and  spirits,  and  a  little  in- 
toxicated by  the  unwonted  attentions  paid  her. 
Besides,  9  mixture  of  French  and  American  blood 


72  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

is  not  conducive  to  the  formation  of  .a  youthful 
prude  or  an  old  maid,  especially  when  its  owner  is 
not  yet  twenty,  has  a  face  and  figure  fashioned  to 
turn  men's  heads,  and  is  robed  in  a  costume  more 
befitting  the  stage  than  prosaic  everyday  life. 

Therefore,  the  girl  played  with  fire  in  perfect 
innocence,  despite  her  occasional  sauciness  and 
glimpses  of  shrewd  mother-wit,  and  fanned  the 
flame  which  had  already  been  kindled  between  the 
grandsons  of  Ian  Darroch. 

It  was  agreed  that  Mr.  Quill  should  take  charge 
of  Miss  Kate,  and  see  to  her  safe  conduct  to  Paris ; 
but  both  men  devoutly  hoped  that  he  would  be  in 
no  haste  to  put  in  an  appearance. 

Geoffrey  had  at  first  been  solely  influenced  by  the 
mention  the  girl  made  of  her  worldly  possessions, 
but  he  was  too  much  of  a  sensualist  not  to  be 
attracted  by  her  uncommon  beauty. 

Neil's  surrender  was  that  of  a  man  who  has  met 
his  fate.  He  kept  a  close  watch  on  himself,  how- 
ever, and  fondly  believed  his  secret  was  his  own. 
Whether  his  brother  guessed  the  real  state  of  his 
feelings  or  not,  one  thing  is  certain :  unfriendly  from 
the  first,  each  now  regarded  the  other  as  a  rival. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

FACE   TO   FACE 

CAPTAIN    VAN     HAGEN,    skipper    of    the 
smuggling  lugger  Tyfel,  was  beyond  all  doubt 
an  extremely  ugly  man.    He  was  like  nothing 
so  much   as   a  huge  codfish,  with  his  soft,  flabby 
face,  his  bulging  eyes,  distended  nose,  and  great 
clumsy  mouth,  which   for  ever   kept  opening   and 
shutting  as  he  mechanically  chewed  tobacco.     The 
resemblance  was  heightened  by  the  greasy  curl  of 
beard,  which  depended  from  his  chin,  and  irresistibly 


FACE  TO  FACE  73 

reminded  one  of  the  barbule  of  the  foul-feeding  cod. 
His  body  was  rotund  but  powerful,  his  legs  short, 
his  bodily  presence,  in  fact,  contemptible,  but  he  was 
no  fool.  An  excellent  seaman,  a  good  commander, 
and  a  daring  runner  of  contraband,  he  was  both 
callous  and  rapacious.  He  was  like  a  fish  in  soul 
as  well  as  in  face — a  cold-blooded,  greedy  Dutch- 
man, but  he  had  the  courage  of  a  pike. 

He  lay  upon  his  stomach  behind  one  of  the  rocks 
on  the  Croban  Point,  and  with  a  telescope  surveyed 
the  coast-line  from  the  distant  Stacks,  along  the 
cliffs  to  the  mouth  of  the  Whipple,  and  the  curving 
sands  which  ran  from  the  estuary  to  where  the 
Croban  jutted  seawards. 

One  of  the  Pitlochie  gang,  no  other  than  the 
man  whom  Neil  Darroch  had  sent  overboard  nearly 
a  fortnight  before,  crouched  by  his  side,  and  puffed 
solemnly  at  a  cutty  pipe. 

The  lugger  Tyfel,  whose  colour  suited  her  name, 
lay  at  anchor  with  her  topmasts  struck  to  the  south 
of  the  promontory,  and  so  was  concealed  from  the 
view  of  any  in  Shiachan  or  Darroch  House.  As  a 
rule,  she  hid  behind  the  Stacks,  but  Captain  Van 
Hagen  had  been  met  by  a  boatload  of  the  free- 
traders, with  the  sad  information  that  his  old  friend 
Ian  Darroch  was  no  more,  and  that  the  crofts  of 
Pitlochie  were  to  be  deserted. 

On  receipt  of  this  news,  Van  Hagen  had  sworn 
vigorously,  for  he  had  been  chased  from  the  Solway, 
and  had  on  board  a  valuable  cargo  of  schnapps  and 
other  commodities  upon  which  a  verdomde  Govern- 
ment exacted  duty. 

He  was  a  slow  thinker,  and  so  found  holding 
ground  for  his  vessel  behind  the  Croban,  and  re- 
viewed the  situation.  It  was  only  an  hour  after 
daybreak,  but  the  skipper  was  an  early  riser,  and 
had  gone  ashore  with  Jan  Holland,  a  man  after  his 
own  heart,  half  Dutch,  half  English,  who,  after 
making  several  voyages  with  him,  had  playfully 


74  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

stabbed  a  woman  in  Amsterdam,  and  found  it  con- 
venient to  reside  at  the  head  of  Glen  Dhu,  where 
all,  except  Dugald  the  piper,  welcomed  so  daring 
and  jovial  a  mariner.  His  crime  had  been  forgotten 
by  this  time,  and  so  he  had  again  gladly  shipped 
with  Van  Hagen,  and  had  persuaded  four  of  his 
kidney  to  join  him. 

His  elegant  commander  suddenly  uttered  a  grunt, 
expressive  of  surprise,  and  spitting  solemnly,  handed 
him  the  glass. 

By  its  aid  Jan  Holland  perceived  the  figure  of  a 
tall  man  making  its  way  across  the  stretch  of  benty 
links.  It  was  coming  towards  the  sands,  now  un- 
covered and  dotted  with  the  black  shapes  of  sea- 
birds  busy  at  their  breakfasts.  Jan  Holland  knew 
the  man,  and  whistled  to  himself. 

It  was  Neil  Darroch. 

A  thought  struck  him,  and  he  was  about  to  pro- 
pose something  to  the  solemn  skipper,  when  that 
worthy  again  grunted,  though  in  a  higher  key.  His 
keen  eye  had  seen  something  else  of  interest.  Follow- 
ing the  direction  indicated  by  a  fat  forefinger,  Jan 
focussed  the  glass,  and  delivered  himself  of  an  oath. 
Another  man  was  abroad  at  this  early  hour,  head- 
ing apparently  for  the  same  place.  It  was  the  new 
Laird  of  Darroch.  Jan  knew  they  were  step- 
brothers, therefore  he  asked  himself  why  they  did 
not  walk  together  if  they  must  take  the  air  at  an 
hour  when  gentlefolk  are  supposed  to  be  abed. 

His  unspoken  question  was  soon  answered.  The 
two  men  gained  the  beach  at  points  a  few  yards 
apart,  raised  their  hats  to  each  other,  and  began 
going  through  certain  movements,  which  caused 
Van  Hagen's  protruding  eyes  to  become  yet  more 
prominent,  while  Jan  Holland's  pipe  went  out. 

'  Strike  me  blind,'  said  the  former  in  Dutch,  '  if 
they  are  not  going  to  fight  a  duel !'  He  chortled  with 
pleasure  at  the  prospect.  '  Let  us  get  nearer,'  said 
he  ;  '  I  smell  money  this  morning.  Ha,  ha  !  ho,  ho  (' 


FACE  TO  FACE  75 

His  painted  visage  became  purple  as  a  painted 
sunset,  and  rising  with  difficulty,  on  account  of  his 
bulk  and  general  umvieldiness,  he  and  his  companion 
began  to  creep  cautiously  towards  the  base  of  the 
little  peninsula  of  rock.  It  was  not  hard  to  keep 
themselves  effectually  hidden  behind  the  mighty 
blocks  and  lichen-spotted  boulders  which,  with  sea- 
worn  gravel  and  rounded  pebbles,  formed  the  beak- 
like  Croban. 

Captain  Van  Hagen  was  right.  It  was  an  appeal 
to  arms  which  had  kept  Geoffrey  Darroch  awake 
all  night,  and  dragged  both  him  and  Neil  from  their 
beds  with  the  first  glimpse  of  light. 

The  reason  is  not  far  to  seek.  Several  things 
had  occurred,  any  one  of  them  sufficient  to  rouse 
Neil  Darroch  to  the  fighting  point,  and  it  was  only 
his  forbearance  which  had  up  till  now  prevented  an 
open  rupture.  Though  he  knew  it  not,  Geoffrey 
had  proposed  to  the  girl,  and  been  rejected.  That 
such  had  been  the  result  of  the  latter's  wooing  was 
not  surprising,  for  his  method  of  making  his  advances 
was  that  in  vogue  amongst  the  dissolute  set  with 
whom  he  had  unhappily  become  associated. 

What  had  forced  him  to  hasten  his  declaration 
was  his  jealousy  of  Neil,  and  an  opportunity  which 
appeared  to  him  too  good  to  be  lost.  He  was 
deceived  by  Kate's  debonair  manner,  and  thought 
her  a  roguish  hoyden,  who  would  rather  enjoy  a 
liberty  being  taken  with  her. 

He  was  undeceived  by  as  sound  a  box  on  the 
ear  as  ever  staggered  a  forward  lover.  He  had 
found  the  girl  alone  one  day,  and  approaching  her 
on  tip-toe,  managed  to  clap  his  somewhat  shaky 
hands  over  her  eyes.  Then,  altering  his  voice,  he  had 
asked  her  to  guess  who  held  her  captive.  Her  answer 
was  prompt,  and  somewhat  disconcerting.  She 
mistook  him  for  the  half-witted  Charles  Deschamps. 

'  Too  bad,  i'  faith,  Miss  Kate,'  said  he,  releasing 
her ;  '  too  bad  to  mix  me  up  with  that  old  ass.' 


76  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

'  It  is,'  she  answered,  in  a  tone  which  should  have 
been  a  warning  to  him.  '  I  might  have  known  that 
Monsieur  Deschamps  would  not  have  done  such  a 
thing.  And  now,  how  dare  you  behave  in  such  a  way !' 

'  Tut,  tut !'  said  he.  '  Faint  heart,  you  know, 
Miss  Kate.  I  am  going  to  dare  a  great  deal  more, 
for  I'm  blessed  if  I  can  help  myself.  Now,  what 
say  you  ?  I  have  my  faults,  but  I'm  none  so  bad  at 
bottom,  and  egad,  my  lass  !  if  you'll  marry  me  I  can 
show  you  a  little  more  of  life  and  gaiety  than  that 
cold-blooded,  sneering  brother  of  mine.  I've  watched 
you,  and  I  want  you  for  yourself,  and  that's  God's 
truth.' 

She  let  him  run  on,  chiefly  because  she  was  too 
much  astonished  to  check  him.  When  she  found 
words,  they  were  scarcely  what  Geoffrey  had 
expected. 

'  You  do  me  too  much  honour,  do  you  not  ?'  she 
asked  with  a  flushed  cheek,  but  looking  him  very 
straight  in  the  eyes. 

'  Honour  !'  said  he.  '  Oh,  honour  be — I  mean, 
confound  it !  Of  course  you  are  not  English,  but 
that's  no  matter.  I'm  in  dead  earnest ;  for  you're  too 
pretty,  and,  you  see ' 

It  was  then,  as  he  made  an  effort  to  clip  her  round 
the  waist,  that  he  received  his  well-merited  reward. 

He  had  the  grace  to  stifle  the  oath  which  rose  to 
his  lips,  and  Kate  noticed  this  act  of  repression  even 
then.  Her  treatment  had  done  him  good. 

'  It's  late  in  the  day  for  this  kind  of  thing,'  he 
stammered. 

'  But  not  too  late,  sir.  Do  you  think  I  am  to  be 
insulted  because  I  am  here  alone  and  unprotected  ?' 

'  Ton  honour,'  he  began,  '  I  meant  nothing.' 

'  I  thought  so,'  she  answered.  '  Please  keep  to 
that,  Mr.  Darroch,  if  you  wish  me  to  forget  what 
has  passed ;'  and  while  Geoffrey  was  wondering  what 
the  deuce  she  meant,  she  left  him  with  a  tingling  ear 
and  a  very  rueful  countenance. 


FACE  TO  FACE  77 

Thinking  over  the  affair  afterwards,  she  was  more 
amused  than  angry,  and  wisely  let  it  make  no 
difference  in  her  behaviour,  meeting  him  frankly  and 
without  reserve.  But  it  was  otherwise  with  Geoffrey. 
He  did  not  blame  the  girl,  for  his  ears  had  been 
boxed  before,  and  yet  he  had  won  in  the  long-run, 
but  he  put  down  his  present  repulse  to  Neil's  influence, 
and  resolved  to  vent  his  spleen  accordingly.  He 
began  with  personal  insults,  but  to  these  Neil  paid 
no  heed.  His  object  was  to  make  the  house  unbear- 
able, and  to  drive  Neil  back  to  his  work.  He  never 
thought  his  brother  would  fight.  Somehow  he  did 
not  associate  him  with  the  pistol  or  the  small  sword, 
and  so,  in  the  evenings,  when  all  had  retired,  these 
two  men  sat  down  and  wrangled  over  their  wine. 
Neil  kept  his  temper  admirably  in  check.  He  would 
have  been  wiser  to  have  avoided  Geoffrey's  company 
altogether,  but  he  had  a  mistaken  idea  that  to  leave 
the  room  would  savour  of  cowardice  on  his  part, 
and  he  believed  himself  strong  enough  to  resist  the 
temptation  of  slapping  the  other  across  the  mouth. 
Indeed,  he  found  a  little  pleasure  in  irritating  his 
brother  by  his  silence  and  contemptuous  smiles, 
which,  though  highly  reprehensible,  was  perhaps 
natural  enough.  An  idle  man  makes  love  or  quarrels 
if  he  has  an  opportunity  for  either  amusement,  and 
Neil,  having  debarred  himself  from  the  former  pursuit, 
found  time  hang  less  heavily  by  indulging  in  a 
negative  way  in  the  latter. 

'  So,'  began  Geoffrey  on  the  night  of  the  final  out- 
burst, '  you  think  you're  strong  in  the  running,  do 
you  ?' 

Neil  merely  raised  his  glass  and  scrutinized  its 
contents,  holding  it  between  him  and  the  lamplight. 

'  May  I  ask  why  you  wear  that  piece  of  glass  in 
your  eye,  sir  ?'  was  the  next  question — one  not  asked 
for  the  first  time. 

The  offending  glass  was  dropped  by  a  slight  relaxa- 
tion of  the  muscles  holding  it  in  position.  Geoffrey, 


78  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

nonplussed  for  a  moment,  subsided  into  silence,  but 
began  to  drink  rapidly  and  deeply. 

A  feeling  of  pity  possessed  Neil,  and  he  resolved 
to  make  an  effort  to  patch  up  the  peace. 

'  I  think,'  he  said,  '  there  should  be  an  end  to  this. 
We  are  here  but  for  a  short  time,  and  I  regret  that 
we  are  so  unfriendly.' 

'  Go  to  the  devil !'  was  the  polite  rejoinder. 

'  My  dear  sir,'  said  Neil,  who  felt  his  conscience 
eased  by  his  attempt  at  reconciliation,  and  into 
whose  throat  there  had  suddenly  come  a  feeling  of 
constriction  at  this  bluff  rejoinder.  '  My  dear  sir,  I 
prefer  not  to  do  so,  for  if  you  continue  drinking  as 
you  are  doing,  it  would  necessitate  my  again  meeting 
you  one  of  these  days.' 

1  God  forbid  !'  said  the  other.  '  I  have  had  enough 
of  you  and  your  breed.  You  give  yourself  the  airs 
of  a  lord,  and  would  rule  the  roost  like  that  blessed 
old  rogue  we  planted  the  other  day — and  a  good  job 
too,  let  me  tell  you.' 

'  Have  a  care,'  said  Neil,  into  whose  eyes  had 
sprung  the  light  of  battle.  '  You  would  do  well  to 
keep  your  foul  tongue  off  the  dead.' 

'  I  would  have  you  know,'  cried  Geoffrey,  '  that  I 
cannot  tolerate  you  longer.  This  place  is  mine,  sir ' 
—he  rapped  violently  upon  the  table — '  and  you  have 
been  here  on  sufferance,  remember  that.' 

'  I  am  not  likely  to  forget  it,'  said  Neil  bitterly. 

'  Very  well,  then  you  will  oblige  me  by  clearing 
out  to-morrow.' 

'  I  regret  that  I  must  refuse  to  do  any  such  thing.' 

'  Confound  your  impertinence !'  hiccoughed 
Geoffrey.  '  I  demand  it !  I  order  it,  sir !  You  may 
be  thankful  I  don't  say  this  very  night.' 

'  There  is  no  need  to  bluster,'  said  Neil  quietly. 
'  You  are  not  dealing  with  a  child.  What  is  more, 
you  are  not  yet  confirmed  in  possession,  and  further, 
Miss  Ingleby  has  to  be  considered.  At  present  you 
are  no  fit  companion  for  a  lady.' 


FACE  TO  FACE  79 

'  Blast  you,  sir !  I  believe  you  put  her  up  to  box 
my  ears.' 

'  Box  your  ears  !  Believe  me,  I  did  not  know  she 
had  done  anything  so  fitting.  I  have  no  doubt  it 
was  well  deserved.' 

At  this  Geoffrey,  savage  and  annoyed  at  the  slip 
of  the  tongue  which  in  his  drunken  folly  had  placed 
him  still  further  at  the  mercy  of  Neil's  sarcasm,  cast 
caution  to  the  winds,  lost  his  head,  and  poured  out 
a  torrent  of  filthy  abuse.  He  cast  Neil's  ancestry 
in  his  teeth,  he  made  base  insinuations,  he  ranted 
and  cursed.  It  was  painful  to  see  his  flushed  face 
and  reddened  eyes  ;  it  was  impossible  to  endure  his 
language. 

Anxious  to  avoid  extremes,  Neil  rose  to  leave  the 
room,  but  as  he  passed  his  brother's  chair  the  latter 
seized  his  coat-tails,  and  hung  on  to  them,  roaring 
with  senseless  laughter. 

'You  pale-faced,  white-livered  hound!'  he  began, 

'  I  know  what  you're  after !  Sit  down  and  be  

to  you !' 

'  Let  go,'  said  Neil  quietly,  '  or  it  will  be  the  worse 
for  you.' 

Many  men  can  stand  a  railing  tongue,  but  let  a 
hand  be  laid  on  them,  and  they  are  up  in  arms  at 
once. 

By  way  of  answer  Geoffrey  tugged  fiercely  at  the 
cloth,  and  Neil,  losing  his  balance,  was  sent  sprawl- 
ing backwards  upon  the  table.  He  was  on  his 
feet  in  an  instant,  and  picking  up  Geoffrey's  glass, 
which,  for  a  wonder,  had  not  been  upset,  without 
a  second  thought  he  dashed  its  contents  in  his 
brother's  face. 

The  change  was  ludicrous. 

The  red  wine  streamed  down  the  red-veined 
cheeks  of  the  toper  and  dropped  upon  his  linen. 
He  choked  and  spluttered,  half  of  it  having  caught 
him  in  the  throat  and  ended  his  merriment.  But  the 
dose  did  him  good,  as  the  box  on  the  ear  had  done ; 


8o  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

it  brought  out  what  of  the  man  there  was  in  him ; 
and  that  is  how,  at  a  distance  of  twenty  paces,  each 
with  a  pistol  in  his  hand  and  another  lying  loaded 
at  his  feet,  with  no  seconds,  and  with,  as  they 
thought,  no  witnesses,  the  grandsons  of  the  old 
Jacobite  faced  one  another,  intent  on  settling  their 
differences  with  powder  and  shot. 

Neither  was  in  a  happy  frame  of  mind,  but  one 
alone  appeared  agitated. 

No  man  can  drink  brandy  to  excess  and  have  a 
clear  head  and  a  steady  hand,  and  when  in  addition 
that  man  has  an  accusing  conscience  and  a  cool 
and  collected  adversary,  his  nerves  are  not  likely  to 
be  composed. 

So  Geoffrey  Darroch  sweated  with  anxiety  rather 
than  fear,  despite  the  cold,  and  Neil,  looking  into  his 
face,  could  find  it  in  his  heart  to  pity  him.  He  had 
no  intention  of  trying  to  kill  the  man  who  reigned 
in  Ian  Darroch's  stead,  but  he  hoped  to  give  him 
a  lesson  and  make  him  apologize,  for  Neil  prided 
himself  on  his  obstinacy  and  grim  determination. 
He  was  yet  to  learn  how  futile  these  might  be,  how 
a  man  may  be  stripped  naked  of  all  his  little  fads, 
his  accumulated  mannerisms  and  oddities,  ay,  and 
be  broken  in  spirit  and  bereft  even  of  intellect  itself, 
by  relentless  Fate. 

Although  without  experience  in  affairs  of  honour, 
he  was  a  good  marksman.  Half  his  time  as  a  boy 
had  been  spent  in  amusing  himself  with  one  of 
those  fine  steel  pistols,  claw-butted  and  inlaid 
with  silver,  which  Highland  gentlemen  carried  as 
far  as  Derby,  and  used  in  vain  on  the  moor  of 
Drummossie. 

He  had  himself  well  under  control ;  he  had  right 
on  his  side,  but  he  was  miserable.  He  knew  now 
how  madly  he  loved  Kate  Ingleby.  He  was 
astonished  at  his  own  ardour,  this  man  who 
sneered  at  the  sex  and  had  known  only  how  frail 
they  could  become.  He  had  reasoned  and  argued 


FACE  TO  FACE  81 

with  this  insane  fancy,  as  at  first  he  called  it,  but  in 
vain.  That  sweetly  serious  face  with  the  merry 
hazel  eyes,  that  voice  with  its  faint  drawl  and  its 
powers  of  song,  the  lissom,  upright  figure,  the  girl's 
naivete,  her  want  of  conventionalism  and  stiffness, 
and  airs  and  graces,  all  held  him  in  thraldom. 

And  now  he  was  going  to  run  the  risk  of  leaving 
her  for  ever.  An  interest  had  come  into  his  life,  the 
life  ho  might  be  about  to  quit.  He  shook  himself 
free  of  such  gloomy  thoughts.  He  would  not,  he 
could  not,  believe  it.  He  had  fashioned  his  own 
character  with  the  greatest  care,  and  was  the  work 
of  years  to  be  snuffed  out  by  yonder  bulky,  royster- 
ing  toper,  who  openly  laughed  at  his  father's 
country,  and  made  a  mock  of  everything  he  held 
sacred  ? 

'  Nonsense  !'  he  told  himself,  as  he  removed  his 
hat,  buttoned  his  coat  tightly  to  the  throat,  and 
saw  to  his  priming. 

As  there  was  no  one  to  give  the  signal,  Geoffrey 
had  proposed  a  plan  to  which  Neil  had  agreed. 
Each  was  to  have  two  pistols,  one  placed  on  the 
sand,  the  other  held  in  the  hand.  Each  was  to 
discharge  the  latter  in  the  air  and  then  to  stoop, 
pick  up  the  remaining  weapon,  and  as  rapidly  as 
possible  to  take  aim  and  fire. 

Naturally  enough,  on  hearing  this  curious  sugges- 
tion, Neil  had  demurred.  He  would  have  to  rely 
wholly  on  the  honour  of  his  step-brother.  He 
quietly  said  as  much  to  Geoffrey,  but  he  had  mis- 
taken his  man. 

'  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Darroch,'  the  latter  had  replied, 
with  the  gravity  of  a  half-sobered  man,  '  I  recognise 
I  am  dealing  with  a  person  of  birth,  even  if  he  be 
half  a  foreigner  and  a  Scotch  lawyer.  I  trust  you. 
Is  it,  therefore,  too  much  to  ask  you  to  believe  that 
I  shall  act  in  good  faith  ?' 

Neil  had  regarded  him  with  amazement.  The 
man  was  transformed,  He  now  spoke  without 
6 


82  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

using  foul  language,  and  his  speech  had  the  ring 
of  truth  about  it. 

Neil  recognised  that,  after  all,  this  step-brother 
might  have  some  spark  of  the  gentleman  in  his 
composition.  He  merely  bowed  his  assent.  Never 
had  he  felt  so  drawn  to  his  relative. 

'  Humph  !'  he  commented  ;  '  he  has  some  of  the 
old  man's  blood  in  him  after  all,  it  would  appear ; 
but  he  needs  a  lesson,  and  he'll  get  it.' 

That  lesson  was  to  be  very  different  from  what 
Neil  imagined. 

Captain  Van  Hagen  and  Jan  had  an  excellent 
view  of  the  encounter.  They  were  surprised,  and 
the  former  was  disgusted,  to  see  both  men  fire  in 
the  air,  but  as  each  stooped  rapidly  the  skipper 
understood  and  grinned  his  approval. 

Like  one  report  sounded  the  discharge  of  the 
second  pistols,  but  one  man  alone  fell,  tottering 
backwards  and  sinking  to  the  sand  as  his  knees 
gave  way. 

It  was  Jan  Holland's  turn  to  grin.  His  debt  was 
paid,  in  part  at  least. 

Geoffrey  Darroch  stood  like  one  dazed,  with  the 
smoking  weapon  in  his  hand.  Then,  as  he  saw  the 
motionless  figure  stretched  out  before  him,  the 
pistol  dropped  from  his  grasp ;  he  gave  a  shuddering 
sigh,  half  of  relief,  half  of  horror,  and  approached 
the  body,  his  limbs  trembling,  his  face  ashen,  his 
very  lips  white  and  dry.  He  was  bending  over  it 
when  he  heard  the  sound  of  soft,  pattering  footsteps. 
He  looked  quickly  up.  A  tall  man  was  running 
towards  him,  and  behind  him  waddled  another, 
who  at  that  moment  shouted  out  something  which 
Geoffrey  could  not  understand. 

But  he  did  not  wait.  Turning,  he  made  off  along 
the  beach  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him.  He 
was  possessed  by  a  wild,  unreasoning  terror ;  he 
would  have  screamed  aloud  had  he  had  any  breath 
to  spare. 


FACE  TO  FACE  83 

And  he  might  have  spared  it,  for  he  had  not  a 
chance  with  the  long-legged,  hardy  smuggler,  who 
ran  him  down  in  thirty  yards,  and  gripped  him  by 
the  collar. 

'Gently,  my  hearty!'  said  he;  'there's  no  one 
going  to  harm  ye.  What !  would  ye  ?'  for  the 
frightened  man  began  to  struggle  violently,  and  was 
no  easy  prey.  But  he  was  too  late.  Up  panted 
Van  Hagen  to  the  aid  of  his  comrade. 

'  Mein  Gott !'  he  exclaimed,  '  what  a  fuss  abood 
nodings  !  Tell  him  what  it  is  we  do  want,  Jan,  and 
put  no  price  on  him  till  I  haben  time  to  think.' 

They  led  Geoffrey  up  to  Neil,  who  lay  where  he 
had  fallen,  a  smear  of  blood  upon  his  forehead. 

'  See  if  he  is  dead,  Jan ;  I  will  watch  de  gentle- 
mans.' 

Thus  adjured,  Jan  knelt  down  and  made  a  hasty 
examination. 

'  Queer,'  said  he ;  '  dash  my  buttons  if  ever  I  seed 
the  like  !  The  ball  took  him  on  the  temple,  just  on 
the  edge,  but  it's  glanced  off — flay  me  !  but  it's 
been  touch  and  go/  he  added ;  '  he's  not  dead,  only 
stunned,  but  pretty  bad,  I  should  say.' 

'  Damn  !'  was  Captain  Van  Hagen's  sole  remark. 

'  It's  all  right,'  said  Jan,  nodding  at  their  captive, 
who  seemed  dazed  and  stupefied ;  '  he  wants  to  get 
rid  o'  him,  and  there's  the  lugger.  Why  not  give 
him  a  passage,  skipper?' 

'  Jan,'  said  the  captain  solemnly,  and  in  Dutch, 
1  you  are  a  genius,  my  boy ;  tell  him.' 

'  Look  here,  you,'  said  Jan ;  '  Van  Hagen  here 
says  I  be  a  genius,  and  d'ye  know  why  ?' 

Geoffrey,  whose  scattered  wits  were  returning, 
looked  at  him  with  an  air  of  relief. 

'  He  is  alive,  did  you  say  ?'  he  asked. 

'  Ay,  ay,  he'll  do,'  said  Jan  ;  '  but  listen  to  me  as 
you  value  your  hide.' 

Thereupon  Geoffrey  was  made  acquainted  with 
many  things ;  learned  who  the  fat  man  was  who 
6 — 2 


84  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

stood  and  puffed  and  chewed  beside  him ;  heard  of 
his  grandfather's  doings,  and  finally  listened  to  an 
offer  made  him  by  Jan, 

'  If  ye  don't  agree  he  may  die,'  said  that  logician ; 
'  then  where'll  you  be,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  If 
he  pegs  out  on  the  lugger,  no  one's  the  wiser,  and 
they'll  think  the  Pitlochie  lads  played  the  trick  on 
him.  If  he  lives,  we  won't  hurt  him,  bless  your 
heart ;  but  a  voyage  will  help  his  constitootion  and 
heal  his  wound.  Meanwhile,  you  splice  the  girl  and 
clear  out.' 

He  laughed  coarsely. 

4  Ho,  ho !'  bellowed  Van  Hagen.  *  So  a  little  bird 
is  de  cause?  Dooble  de  price,  Jan,  dooble  de  price.' 

*  Hold  your  row,  man !'  said  Jan  ;  '  the  figger's 
moderate.     Now  then,  what  d'ye  say  ?' 

The  wretched  man  was  in  a  trap  ;  the  offer  was 
tempting. 
1  But  I  have  no  money  here,'  he  protested. 

*  That  don't  matter ;   we'll  take   the  watch   and 
chain,   thank  'ee.      Hold    on,    though,    that    ain't 
enough.' 

'  You  can't  come  near  the  house,'  said  Geoffrey  in 
alarm  ;  '  you'll  be  seen  by  someone.' 

4  Bless  your  heart !  can't  we  ?  Don't  ye  know 
there's  a  passage  to  the  cellars  from  the  caves  ?' 

4  What !'  cried  Geoffrey. 

4  To  be  sure ;  that's  the  way  your  precious  old  cuss 
of  an  ancestor  scared  the  sogers.  We'll  be  at  the 
trap-door  at  twelve  this  blessed  night,  ay,  and  a 
dozen  men  behind  us,  so  no  monkeying,  Mister 
Laird.  See  and  be  there  with  the  yellow  boys,  or 
it's  in  Portroy  you'll  be  in  the  morning.' 

'  Curse  you  !'  snarled  Geoffrey,  thoroughly  cowed, 
and  with  that  they  let  him  go. 

Securing  the  pistols,  they  raised  the  unconscious 
man,  bore  him  carefully  to  their  boat,  and  hoisted 
him  on  board  the  Tyfel. 

'  Beautiful !'  said    Captain  Van    Hagen  ;    '  by  to- 


FACE  TO  FACE  85 

night  he  will  be  'dead — you  understand  me,  Jan  ? — 
den  de  price  will  be  doobled.' 

And  Jan  Holland's  wink  was  evidence  of  his  com- 
prehension. 

It  was  a  wretched  being  that  slunk  across  the 
links  and  fields  to  Darroch  House.  Once  a  weak 
man  stoops  to  evil,  there  is  no  saying  where  he  may 
end.  Geoffrey  had  been  guilty  of  many  minor 
crimes ;  he  had  been  known  to  cheat  at  cards  and 
on  the  turf.  His  reputation  where  women  were 
concerned  was  bad  ;  but  so  far,  as  Neil  had  found, 
he  had  not  wholly  abandoned  every  principle  of 
honour  and  virtue.  Now  he  had  gone  a  step  further. 

Before  the  duel,  and  even  as  he  faced  his  brother, 
he  had  no  clear  idea  as  to  what  he  wanted  to  do. 
His  brain  was  fuddled,  and  the  matter  had  risen  so 
suddenly,  that  he  had  been  hurried  into  a  demand 
for  satisfaction.  His  conduct  all  along  had  been 
that  of  a  drunken  and  irritated  man,  but  it  had  re- 
coiled on  his  own  head  with  a  vengeance. 

He  was  sobered  at  last,  and  in  a  fine  dilemma. 
He  cursed  his  folly,  but  that  did  not  help  him. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  he  thought  little  of  poor 
Neil.  His  consternation  was  entirely  for  himself. 
His  available  funds  were  at  a  very  low  ebb,  and  this 
bargain  into  which  he  had  been  forced  would  absorb 
half  his  ready  money. 

Then  again,  if  the  arrangement  were  discovered, 
he  would  have  to  make  himself  scarce.  He  dreaded 
to  think  of  what  the  fishermen  would  do  if  they 
heard  of  his  transaction.  To  fight  a  duel  was  one 
thing,  to  wound  a  man  and  then  pay  to  have  him 
kidnapped,  was  quite  another.  He  must  brazen  it 
out,  he  told  himself,  and  approached  the  house  with 
the  greatest  care,  hiding  behind  bushes  and  survey- 
ing the  premises  before  he  ventured  nearer.  To  his 
relief  no  one  was  stirring.  On  tip-toe  he  made  his 
way  within  and  reached  his  room  without  having 
seen  or  heard  anything  to  cause  him  alarm. 


86  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

But  a  pair  of  suspicious  eyes  had  marked  his 
every  movement. 

The  damaged  brain  rests  uneasily.  The  half-witted 
are  poor  sleepers  as  a  rule,  and  Monsieur  Deschamps 
was  no  exception.  Geoffrey  was  unaware  that  the  old 
man  would  frequently  be  up  and  about  at  cock-crow, 
even  in  the  cold  winter  mornings,  and  thus  he  had 
slipped  past  the  hall-door  without  an  idea  that  it 
was  slightly  ajar,  and  that  a  face  was  surveying  him 
through  the  narrow  chink.  It  was  the  same  puck- 
ered and  vacant  face  which  a  moment  before  had 
been  peering  through  a  little  clear  space  in  a  clouded 
pane  of  glass,  and  had  noted  his  cautious  approach. 

Monsieur  Deschamps  might  have  a  want,  but  he 
could  put  two  and  two  together  in  a  feeble  way,  and 
he  hated  and  feared  this  new  master  even  more 
than  the  old,  who  had  not  troubled  him  for  long 
before  his  death. 

'  I  must  tell  Neil,'  he  mumbled.  '  Why  does  he 
creep  like  a  fox  ?  He  is  bad,  very  bad,  but  Charles 
Deschamps  knows  something  !  Hee  !  hee  !' 

His  face  wrinkled  with  pleasure,  and  he  gave  a 
little  skip  of  delight  as  he  shuffled  off  to  feed  his 
friends  the  fowls.  He  would  talk  to  them  for  hours 
at  a  time. 

Meanwhile,  Geoffrey  Darroch  was  wondering 
what  course  of  action  he  should  adopt.  Knowing 
that  the  American  was  unacquainted  with  Neil's 
handwriting,  he  was  on  the  point  of  composing  a 
letter  to  her  purporting  to  come  from  his  step- 
brother, and  stating  that  pressing  business  required 
his  immediate  return. 

'Egad!'  he  muttered,  'I  could  even  make  it  an 
affectionate  farewell — deeply  regret — hope  ere  long 
— shall  ever  remember,  and  so  forth.'  He  gave  a 
mockery  of  a  laugh,  a  hollow  laugh,  which  betrayed 
his  state  of  miserable  indecision,  the  pricking  of  a 
guilty  conscience.  '  Great  Caesar !  though,  that  will 
not  do !'  he  told  himself.  '  It  would  be  damning 


FACE  TO  FACE  87 

evidence  if  anything  leaked  out.  No,  no !  I  must 
appear  as  surprised  as  they  will  be.  Then  there's  the 
housekeeper.  She  won't  count  for  much,  however.' 

His  hand  trembled  so  much  that  he  could  not 
shave.  He  cursed  at  his  condition  and  steadied  his 
nerves  temporarily  in  a  way  which  was  growing 
upon  him,  and  ruining  him,  body  and  soul.  But  for 
the  present  the  brandy  did  him  good  :  his  courage 
returned,  and  there  was  nothing  about  him  to  attract 
special  attention  when  Kate  Ingleby  met  him  at  the 
breakfast-table. 

She  was  looking  her  best  that  morning.  The 
effect  of  the  terrible  struggle  for  life  had  worn  off, 
and  as  the  memory  of  the  wreck  began  to  grow  dim 
— it  takes  a  heavy  loss  to  tell  for  long  on  the  young 
and  healthy — her  spirits  rose,  and  she  was  again  the 
same  vivacious  lass  whose  natural  brightness  a  dull 
and  dreary  life  had  not  been  able  to  quench. 

What  added  to  her  attractiveness  was  the  fact  that 
there  was  something  of  an  unconscious  challenge  in 
the  flash  of  her  gay  eyes,  in  the  poise  of  her  head,  in 
her  very  speech.  It  was  the  same  attitude,  with, 
indeed,  the  unconscious  element  deleted,  which  her 
country  has  adopted  since  ever  it  became  a  nation. 

But  surely  there  was  something  more,  else  whence 
came  a  certain  old-world  grace,  a  touch  of  hauteur, 
that  pursing  of  a  pretty  mouth,  that  firm,  rounded 
chin,  that  dignity  of  carriage,  which  tells  its  own 
story  ?  Beyond  a  doubt  these  were  her  legacy  from 
France — not  the  France  of  the  sans-culotte  and  the 
guillotine,  not  the  France  of  the  Empire,  with  its 
hybrids  and  its  foreigners,  but  the  vanished  France, 
which  somehow  suggests  stately  minuets  and  light, 
tinkling  music,  and  love  and  gallantry,  and  aristo- 
crats galore. 

'  By  Jove  !'  thought  Geoffrey.  '  It  was  worth 
doing  to  win  her,  hang  me  if  it  wasn't !' 

He  noticed  the  quick  glance  she  gave  round  the 
room,  and  rightly  interpreted  its  meaning. 


88  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

'  My  brother  has  not  yet  put  in  an  appearance,'  he 
said. 

'  Oh  !'  she  answered  lightly,  with  a  pardonable 
duplicity,  '  I  was  wondering  if  the  lawyer  with  the 
queer  name  had  come.' 

'  Mr.  Quill  ?  Come,  come,  Miss  Ingleby  !  Then 
you  wish  to  leave  us  ?  That  is  too  bad,  'pon  honour 
it  is !' 

*  No,  no !'  she  replied  earnestly ;  '  it  is  not  that, 
but  I  am  trespassing  on  your  kindness.' 

He  made  a  gesture  of  dissent. 

'  Yes,  but  I  am,'  she  retorted.  '  I  have  a  terrible 
appetite,  I  know.' 

'  It  is  a  pleasure,'  he  protested. 

'To  be  eaten  out  of  house  and  home?'  she  said 
gaily.  'You  are  too  polite,  Mr.  Darroch.  Now, 
Neil' — it  was  wonderful  how  glibly  the  name  fell 
from  her  lips — 'would  have  agreed  with  me.  Are 
there  many  men  like  him  in  this  country  ?' 

The  question  staggered  him.  He  reddened  under 
her  frank  gaze. 

'  I  do  believe  you  are  jealous  !'  she  laughed.  '  Fie ! 
fie  !  "  Let  brotherly  love  continue,"  you  know.  But 
I  am  hungry.  I  wish  he  would  be  quick.  Why,  my 
old  friend  is  not  here,  either  !' 

Her  words  tortured  him. 

'  Let  us  start  without  them,'  he  said  in  a  voice  the 
hoarseness  of  which  he  hid  by  a  cough. 

'  I  reckon  they  deserve  it,'  she  answered ;  '  but 
here  they  come,  I  think.' 

The  door  opened,  and  Charles  Deschamps 
entered. 

'  Come  away,  you  lazy  old  man  !'  she  cried.  '  Late, 
but  not  last.' 

He  shuffled  in,  bowed  coldly  to  Geoffrey,  and  with 
much  empressement  to  the  girl.  She  noticed  that 
he  was  flushed,  that  his  eyes  were  bright,  that  his 
usual  well-bred,  if  meaningless,  smile  was  absent, 

'  You  have  been  out  ?'  she  queried, 


FACE  TO  FACE  89 

'  Yes,  yes,'  he  said  quickly.     '  And  not  I  only.' 

Geoffrey  started. 

'  Could  the  fool  have  seen  him  ?'  he  asked  himself. 
'  Pshaw !'  he  exclaimed  inwardly  ;  '  impossible  !' 

But  he  felt  far  from  comfortable. 

'  Was  Mr.  Neil  with  you  ?'  asked  Kate. 

But  the  old  man  did  not  seem  to  hear  her.  He 
had  one  of  his  strange  fits  upon  him,  and  ate  little, 
fumbling  at  his  mouth  with  his  long  taper  fingers, 
and  fidgeting  on  his  seat. 

The  meal  proceeded  in  silence. 

'  It's  very  curious,'  said  Geoffrey  after  a  time, 
'  that  he  has  not  come  down,  though  we  sat  up  late 
last  night.  With  your  leave  I  shall  go  and  see.' 

He  rose  and  hurriedly  left  the  room. 
At  once  the  old  Frenchman's  manner  changed. 
He  leaned  across  the  table  towards  the  girl. 

'  Why  was  he  out  ?'  he  asked  in  French.  '  Made- 
moiselle, why  was  he  out  ?' 

'  Who  ?'  she  asked,  bewildered. 

But  he  did  not  answer.  Getting  up  without  any 
apology — a  thing  most  unusual  with  him — he  hesi- 
tated a  moment  and  then  followed  Geoffrey  from  the 
room. 


BOOK    II. 

THE  TRIAL 

CHAPTER  I. 
FROM   LUGGER  TO   FRIGATE 

NEIL  DARROCH  came  to  himself  when  the 
lugger  Tyfel  had  been  three  days  at  sea. 
He  was  lying  on  his  back  in  some  dark 
place,  some  gloomy,  ill-smelling  hole,  full  of  a  multi- 
tude of  sounds — creakings  and  squeakings,  sharp 
raps  and  heavier  blows — while  he  became  conscious 
of  a  swaying  movement,  regular  and  sickening,  which 
could  not  be  mistaken.  He  was  on  board  a  ship. 
His  head  was  strangely  dull  and  heavy.  He  raised 
a  hand  to  his  brow,  and  found  a  cloth  bound  round 
it.  His  eyelids  felt  as  if  their  lashes  were  of  lead, 
so  weighty  did  they  seem,  so  great  was  their  tendency 
to  droop  and  shut  out  his  vision.  It  was  with  a 
conscious  effort  he  kept  his  eyes  open,  and  this  first 
voluntary  action  since  he  fell  upon  the  sands  stimu- 
lated his  brain  to  greater  exertions.  He  began  to 
think,  and  at  once  experienced  pain.  Still  he  per- 
severed, and  memory  returned  to  him.  He  recalled 
the  quarrel,  the  duel,  everything,  down  to  the  whip- 
like  crack  of  his  first  pistol.  Then  how  came  he 
to  be  in  this  place  ?  he  asked  himself.  There  was 
no  fear  in  his  question ;  he  was  too  languid,  too 


FROM  LUGGER  TO  FRIGATE    91 

drowsy,  to  trouble  about  it,  and  in  this  condition  he 
lay  yet  another  day,  while  the  Tyfel  threshed  into 
head-seas,  and  tacked  for  the  Solway. 

Captain  Van  Hagen  had  a  humorous,  or  rather,  a 
farcical,  side  to  his  objectionable  character.  That  is 
no  doubt  the  reason  Neil's  quizzing-glass  had  taken 
his  fancy.  He  had  dispensed  with  the  riband,  and 
now  one  of  his  fish-like  orbs  surveyed  Jan  Holland 
through  it,  much  to  that  worthy's  admiration. 

'And  how  is  the  gentlemans  to-day,  Jan?'  he 
asked  as  he  rolled  along  his  quarterdeck. 

Clumsy  and  uncouth  on  land,  the  skipper  was  at 
home  on  his  beloved  planking.  His  short  legs,  set 
wide  apart,  swayed  to  every  motion  of  the  vessel ;  he 
moved,  if  not  with  grace,  at  least  with  wonderful 
activity  and  a  jaunty  step  when  at  sea.  He  was 
built  to  withstand  a  nor'-easter,  and  to  stagger  on 
inclined  planes. 

'  Jean  Maban  says  he  is  better,'  answered  his  mate, 
*  but  that  his  temper  is  growing  worse.  He  wants 
to  know  where  the  devil  he  is,  and  what  has  become 
of  his  fine  clothes.' 

'  Boor  man  !'  said  Captain  Van  Hagen  with  mock 
pity.  '  It  is  sad  that  he  is  so  silly.' 

Whereupon  both  master  and  mate  laughed  heartily. 
But  their  merriment  ended  abruptly,  for  from  where 
they  stood  they  could  see  a  tall  figure,  clad  in  a 
seaman's  togs,  emerge  from  the  forecastle. 

'  Strike  me  blind  !'  exclaimed  the  skipper, '  but  here 
he  does  come  !  His  head-bones  must  be  thick,  Jan.' 

It  was  indeed  Neil,  who,  a  prey  to  doubt  and 
uncertainty,  had  been  unable  to  rest,  and  so,  though 
he  felt  far  from  well,  his  head  aching  sorely,  his 
mouth  dry  and  fevered,  he  had  resolved  to  get  to  the 
bottom  of  the  mystery. 

Repression  of  all  emotion  was  with  him  a  creed. 
He  had  schooled  himself  in  it  till  he  fondly  imagined 
himself  a  Stoic.  Therein  he  was  mistaken.  Such 
a  philosophy  is  impossible  for  the  Celt.  The  Teuton 


92  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

and  the  Slav,  the  Englishman  more  especially,  may 
make  himself  well-nigh  perfect  in  the  art  of  self- 
control,  but  the  Highlander  will  rarely  succeed. 
Neil's  acquired  coolness  and  reserve  had  so  far 
served  him  well  enough,  but  they  had  never  been  put 
to  the  test.  In  the  course  of  his  reading  he  had 
encountered  situations  which  he  was  wont  to  con- 
sider critically.  He  had  found  it  entertaining  to 
imagine  how  he  would  behave  in  this  and  that 
extremity.  He  was  to  find — to  learn  by  bitter  ex- 
perience— that  theory  is  vastly  different  from  practice. 
Still  his  allies — for  such  they  had  become — were  not 
to  desert  him  immediately.  From  the  little  he  had 
gathered,  he  suspected  that  he  was  the  victim  of  foul 
play,  and  he  determined  to  carry  things  with  a  high 
hand. 

On  reaching  the  open  air,  he  paused  and  looked 
about  him.  He  recognised  at  once  that  he  was  on 
one  of  those  smuggling  craft  which  at  rare  intervals 
used  to  appear  off  the  coast,  and  with  which  he  knew 
his  grandfather  had  been  wont  to  have  dealings. 
There  was  no  sign  of  land  from  her  deck — nothing 
but  a  vast  expanse  of  gray  sea  tipped  with  white, 
through  which  she  was  running  fast  and  easily  under 
a  press  of  canvas.  He  noticed  the  two  men  standing 
on  her  poop,  and  paying  no  attention  to  some  of  the 
crew  who  were  watching  him  curiously,  he  made  his 
way  aft  with  the  clumsiness  of  a  landsman.  His 
first  act  as  he  reached  them  was  characteristic  of 
the  man. 

*  Pardon  me,'  he  said  with  the  greatest  politeness, 
'  but  that  is  my  property ;'  and  to  their  astonishment, 
he  plucked  his  glass  from  the  eye  of  Captain  Van 
Hagen,  and  after  wiping  it  on  the  cloth  of  a  rough 
pea-jacket  he  wore,  transferred  it  to  his  own. 

There  was  something  so  audacious  in  the  act, 
something  so  masterful  about  this  tall,  gaunt  man, 
who  looked  scarcely  able  to  keep  his  feet,  that  for  a 
moment  the  Dutch  skipper  was  nonplussed.  Then, 


FROM  LUGGER  TO  FRIGATE      93 

with  a  curse  and  a  quick  motion,  he  snatched  at  the 
glass,  and  pitched  it  overboard. 

'  That,  sir,'  said  Neil,  '  I  consider  an  impertinence  ;' 
but  even  as  he  spoke  a  lurch  of  the  vessel  would 
have  upset  him  had  not  Jan  Holland,  with  no  gentle 
hand,  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

Neil's  bold  front,  however,  was  his  salvation. 

'  Strike  me  blind  !'  said  Van  Hagen,  '  but  he  is  a 

brave  man,  and  not  like  de  oder.  Jan,  you ,  what 

you  laugh  at  ?' 

*  I  presume  you  refer  to  Mr.  Darroch  ?'  said  Neil. 

*  Oh,  tell  him,  Jan ;  tell  him  all.     It  will  do  no 
harm,'  chuckled  the  skipper. 

Jan  Holland  had  been  promising  himself  much  joy 
in  the  way  of  repaying  Neil  for  the  bath  he  had  given 
him,  but  he  saw  that  this  man  with  the  thin  lips  and 
the  grim,  dark  face  was  not  to  be  trifled  with,  and 
that  already  he  had  found  his  way  into  Van  Hagen's 
good  graces.  Moreover,  he  also  could  admire 
courage  in  whatever  form,  and  so,  mentally  can- 
celling his  debt,  which  indeed  had  been  more  than 
repaid,  he  proceeded  with  the  greatest  sangfroid  to 
recount  the  incidents  which  had  led  to  Neil's  appear- 
ance on  the  lugger.  The  latter  listened  quietly.  He 
showed  no  sign  of  the  wrath  which  possessed  him, 
but  it  was  well  for  Geoffrey  Darroch  that  he  was 
nowhere  within  reach. 

The  unhappy  man  could  have  groaned  with 
misery  and  fear  when  he  had  heard  all — fear,  not  for 
himself,  but  for  the  girl  left  in  the  clutches  of  such 
a  scoundrel  as  he  found  his  step-brother  to  be. 

'  And  this  is  his  honour,'  he  said  to  himself. 

He  had  escaped  with  his  life  by  a  miracle,  but  no 
thought  of  thankfulness  crossed  his  mind.  As  for 
the  men  before  him,  he  did  not  blame  them.  In- 
deed, when  he  heard  that  they  had  told  Geoffrey  he 
was  dead,  and  forced  him  to  disgorge  a  double  sum, 
he  joined  in  their  mirth ;  but  his  was  a  terrifying 
laugh,  so  fierce,  so  tuneless,  that  even  Van  Hagen 


94  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

paused  and  looked  doubtfully  at  him.  He  did  not 
want  a  maniac  on  board  his  ship. 

'  You  will  put  me  ashore  ?'  said  Neil,  as  if  he  were 
giving  an  order. 

'  Strike  me  blind,  but  I  will !'  ,said  the  skipper. 
'  I  would  give  half  de  money  to  see  de  second  fight. 
Jan,'  he  added  in  Dutch,  '  tell  him  to  come  to  the 
cabin  and  drink  grog  with  me  ;  he  is  a  man  after  my 
own  heart,  and  his  watch  and  chain  will  pay  for  his 
passage — ho,  ho  !  ha,  ha  !' 

Captain  Van  Hagen  meant  what  he  said,  but 
Thomme  propose,  mais  Dieu  dispose.'  Foiled  in 
his  attempt  to  land  a  cargo  at  the  Cowrie  Caves,  he 
again  headed  for  the  Solway,  and  for  the  last  time 
in  his  existence. 

That  very  night  they  made  the  land  and  crept 
cautiously  in  towards  the  rocky  Wigtownshire  coast, 
with  a  blue  light  at  the  forepeak,  and  a  flare  in  the 
bows,  as  signals  to  their  accomplices  on  shore. 

The  Tyfel  was  running  a  great  risk ;  for  her  com- 
mander did  not  know  but  that  the  cutter  to  which 
he  had  given  the  slip  might  not  be  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood ;  but  the  stakes  were  high,  and  he  had  the 
gambling  spirit. 

His  signals  were  answered,  and  presently  the 
lugger  came  to  an  anchorage ;  boats  were  lowered, 
and  they  began  to  transfer  her  cargo.  Van  Hagen, 
having  been  assured  that  the  coast  was  clear,  went 
ashore  with  half  his  men,  leaving  Jan  in  charge, 
while  Neil  received  a  promise  that  he  would  be 
landed  in  the  dinghy  at  some  distance  away,  as  the 
free-traders  would  not  be  inclined  to  welcome  him 
along  with  the  kegs  and  bales. 

His  prospects  were  gloomy  enough.  He  was  still 
weak,  and  he  was  without  money;  his  clothes  had 
been  put  up  to  auction  for  the  benefit  of  the  crew, 
and  he  had  no  idea  how  he  was  to  get  to  Glasgow, 
which  must  be  his  first  step.  But  he  was  feverishly 
impatient  to  start  off;  his  fingers  were  itching  to  be 


FROM  LUGGER  TO  FRIGATE     95 

at  Geoffrey's  throat  ;  he  tortured  himself  with 
thoughts  of  what  might  have  happened  in  his  ab- 
sence. 

As  he  waited,  there  suddenly  came  a  great  uproar 
from  the  direction  of  the  shore  ;  lights  flickered 
through  the  darkness,  faint  shouts  and  cries  were 
borne  to  his  ears. 

The  crew,  who  were  already  armed,  a  motley  set, 
of  many  nations  and  languages,  became  instantly 
excited  and  thronged  to  the  side  nearest  the  land, 
listening  to  those  noises  which  told  of  a  desperate 
struggle. 

But  Jan  Holland  was  an  old  bird,  and  knew  that 
such  an  attack  was  likely  to  be  supported.  He  gave 
orders  for  all  lights  to  be  dowsed,  and  set  his  men 
to  work  to  clear  away  the  long  Tom,  which,  loaded 
to  the  muzzle,  might  have  saved  the  lugger. 

He  was  too  late.  A  hail  came  from  the  dark 
haze  which  shrouded  the  sea,  from  a  couple  of 
boats  full  of  revenue  men,  who  with  muffled  oars 
had  slipped  down  upon  the  Tyfel. 

It  was  answered  by  a  dropping  fire,  and  the 
smugglers  strove  like  fiends  to  get  their  heavy  car- 
ronade  slewed  into  position. 

Before  they  succeeded,  with  a  rousing  cheer  the 
launches  made  their  dash,  and  the  cutter's  men  were 
scrambling  aboard. 

A  confused  fight  began,  but  it  ended  quickly. 
The  lugger's  hawser  was  severed  with  a  hatchet,  and 
she  began  to  drift  with  the  tide.  Her  crew  were 
driven  below,  Neil  Darroch  amongst  them,  and  the 
Tyfel  was  the  prize  of  His  Majesty's  cutter  Vigilant. 

As  for  Captain  Van  Hagen,  he  was  like  a  fish  in 
death  as  in  life.  He  was  taken  cunningly  in  a  net, 
and  ere  long,  like  the  angler's  sign,  he  dangled  from 
a  pole,  being  hanged  in  chains  in  the  market-place 
of  Dumfries. 

Meanwhile  the  Vigilantes  commander,  in  high 
good -humour  at  the  success  of  his  ruse  (he  had 


96  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

transformed  his  cutter  into  the  sailing  image  of  a 
dirty  collier,  and  boldly  returned  to  the  Solway  in 
broad  daylight),  sent  a  prize-crew  on  board  his  cap- 
ture, in  charge  of  an  old  gray-haired  lieutenant  and 
a  master's  mate.  They  quickly  weeded  out  the 
unmistakable  foreigners  amongst  the  smugglers  and 
transferred  them  to  the  cutter.  The  remainder  were 
clapped  below  under  hatches,  for  the  lugger  was  to 
be  run  round  to  the  Mersey,  and  there  no  doubt  a 
King's  ship  would  be  found  only  too  pleased  to  receive 
aboard  so  sturdy  a  set  of  rogues. 

Neil  Darroch  had  mustered  with  the  rest,  and 
when  he  found  he  was  in  danger  of  being  mistaken 
for  one  of  the  TyfeVs  crew,  his  consternation  may  be 
imagined.  The  tide  was  favourable,  the  wind  would 
serve,  and  things  were  being  done  in  a  hurry. 

He  saw  he  must  protest  at  once.  Stepping  for- 
ward, a  tremor  of  anxiety  in  his  voice  which  he 
could  not  conceal,  '  I  trust  you  do  not  include  me  ?' 
he  began. 

'  Eh,  what's  that  ?'  said  the  officer.  '  No  time  to 
listen  to  you,  my  man ;  thank  your  stars  you're  not 
on  shore  with  the  horse  soldiers  prodding  your  back. 
Stand  out  of  the  way  now.' 

'  But,  sir,'  entreated  Neil. 

Jan  Holland,  who  was  standing  in  the  line,  savage 
in  temper,  with  a  broken  arm  and  a  badly  cut  head, 
called  out  at  this  moment : 

'  Never  heed  him  ;  he's  tjueer  in  the  noddle,  since 
he  was  hurt  in  a  tussle ;  thinks  he's  a  gent,  he  does.' 

'  None  of  your  blarney  !'  answered  the  lieutenant. 
'  That's  all  right — seven  of  the  devils ;  get  them 
below.' 

His  orders  were  speedily  obeyed,  and  Neil,  with  a 
feeling  of  intense  dismay,  was  bundled  down  the 
companion  stairs. 

Before  morning  broke,  he  was  again  at  sea,  ill 
and  down-hearted,  his  only  satisfaction,  a  poor  one 
at  the  best,  being  that  Jan  Holland  was  delirious. 


FROM  LUGGER  TO  FRIGATE     97 

The  next  two  days  he  endured  the  misery  of  that 
hope  deferred  which  maketh  the  heart  sick. 

The  shock  had  been  such  that  his  rage  mastered 
him,  and  he  stormed  at  both  lieutenant  and  master's 
mate  as  they  made  their  inspection  on  the  day 
following  the  capture. 

The  former,  coarse  and  sour-tempered,  three  parts 
full  of  rum,  and  puffed  up  by  his  new  command, 
made  a  mock  of  him,  laughing  at  his  threats  and  hot 
words,  and  vowing — for  another  of  the  Pitlochie 
men  had  lied  to  him — that  he  knew  how  to  handle 
Highland  cattle,  and  hinting  that  a  rope's  end  was  a 
salutary  cure  for  a  grumbler. 

His  second  in  command,  a  sneak  and  toady,  took 
his  cue  from  his  superior  officer,  and  Neil  found  it 
hard  to  restrain  himself  from  assaulting  them.  They 
seemed  to  find  infinite  amusement  in  his  rage  and 
distress.  They  were  of  the  nature  that  rejoices  in 
a  bull-baiting  or  a  badger-drawing — that  fine  old 
English  stock  whose  memory  we  associate  with  a 
sweet  savour  of  beer-pots  and  coarse  tobacco,  the 
rubicund,  pimple-faced,  foul-mouthed  set  with  whom 
we  are  acquainted  from  the  old  prints  and  from 
many  a  book-picture.  God  knows  they  were  brave 
enough,  blustering,  free-handed,  broad-backed  rogues, 
those  of  them  who  followed  the  sea,  without  rever- 
ence for  anything  in  earth  or  heaven,  devoted  solely 
to  their  victuals  and  their  bottles,  and,  when  it  suited 
them,  their  duty. 

'  Damn  all  Frenchmen,  and  down  with  the  rum  !' 
was  their  motto,  and  they  acted  up  to  it  and  very 
much  beyond  it. 

To  a  man  with  the  refined  susceptibilities  of  Neil 
Darroch,  a  man  who,  besides,  had  those  innate  feel- 
ings of  a  gentleman  characteristic  of  the  poorest  and 
humblest  of  that  old  class  of  Celt  which  have  long 
since  passed  away — stamped  out  by  town  life  and 
nineteenth-century  civilization — those  swilling  rough- 
tongued  salts  were  like  brute  beasts. 
7 


98  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

He  had  no  eye  for  any  good  points  they  might 
possess  ;  their  vulgarity  sickened  him.  He  did  not 
understand  their  habits,  and  this,  his  first  introduc- 
tion to  the  English  seaman,  made  him  remember 
without  wonder  his  grandfather's  hatred  of  the 
whole  race. 

The  crew,  he  found,  were  little  better.  They  were 
ill-conditioned,  surly,  and  fond  of  a  rude  joke,  smart 
enough,  no  doubt,  when  the  occasion  demanded, 
but  at  other  times  lazy  and  quarrelsome,  a  type 
common  in  the  smaller  vessels  of  the  navy,  where 
the  discipline  was  often  slack,  the  officers  middle- 
aged  and  disappointed,  and  the  men  sick  of  their 
smuggler-catching  trade. 

Realizing  at  last  the  hopelessness  of  his  present 
position,  Neil  resigned  himself  to  the  inevitable, 
devoutly  hoping  that  some  way  of  escape  might  be 
opened  up  to  him ;  for  if,  as  his  comrades  in  mis- 
fortune predicted,  he  was  made  over  to  some  out- 
ward-bound ship-of-war,  and  if  her  officers  were  of 
the  same  class  as  those  into  whose  hands  he  had 
fallen,  then  indeed  his  lot  would  be  unbearable. 
He  worried  himself  into  a  fever,  and  it  was  a  good 
thing  for  him  that  his  scalp  wound — due,  fortunately, 
to  a  small  bullet,  and  unassociated  with  injury  to 
any  vessel — was  in  process  of  healing,  thanks  to  a 
liberal  application  of  friar's  balsam  and  a  healthy 
constitution  ;  otherwise  his  mental  state  would 
have  reacted  most  unfavourably  upon  it 

From  the  King's  men,  who  were  friendly  enough 
to  the  prisoners,  he  learned  when  they  might 
expect  to  make  the  land ;  and  there  happened 
something  which  gave  him  the  very  opportunity  he 
was  praying  for,  and  which  he  almost  despaired  of 
obtaining. 

Jan  Holland  died.  Less  lucky  than  Neil,  or  with 
a  thinner  skull,  a  cutlass  had  fractured  his  brain-pan, 
and,  after  raving  blasphemously  for  four-and-twenty 
hours,  he  had  sunk  into  coma  and  slipped  his  cable. 


FROM  LUGGER  TO   FRIGATE     99 

As  it  was  towards  evening  he  drew  his  last  breath, 
and  as  the  lieutenant  expected  to  come  to  an  anchor- 
age in  a  few  hours,  when  it  would  be  advisable  to  get 
a  surgeon  to  view  the  corpse,  they  wrapped  the  once 
bold  Jan  in  a  fold  of  canvas. 

The  body  lay  in  a  kind  of  upper  hold,  where  the 
smugglers  were  confined,  and  not  one  of  these  hardy 
rascals  seemed  to  care  much  about  it.  They  dropped 
off  to  sleep,  which,  with  very  moderate  eating  and 
drinking,  was  their  sole  occupation,  unless,  indeed,  they 
meditated  ;  but  this  was,  to  say  the  least,  doubtful. 

Not  so,  however,  with  Neil.  He  saw,  or  thought 
he  saw,  a  feasible  plan.  It  was  repulsive  to  him, 
but  the  beggar  may  not  be  a  chooser.  As  much  as 
possible  he  had  held  aloof  from  the  other  men, 
sleeping,  or,  rather,  trying  to  sleep,  in  a  separate 
corner,  and  holding  little  communication  with  them. 
As  a  reward  for  his  marked  objection  to  their 
manners  and  conversation,  they  had  kindly  shifted 
Jan's  body  from  their  midst  to  his  private  nook,  if 
such  a  word  can  be  applied  to  a  place  absolutely 
devoid  of  comfort.  It  was  this  put  the  idea  in  his 
head.  The  place  was  as  dark  as  pitch,  and  he  had 
made  a  point  of  resenting  their  hideous  joke. 

Hurriedly,  yet  as  gently  as  possible,  he  dragged 
the  sheet  away  from  the  corpse,  propped  it  up  against 
the  bulkhead,  dragging  a  bandage  which  circled  its 
scalp  down  over  its  face.  He  was  thankful  then 
that  he  also  was  wounded.  With  a  shudder  of 
disgust  he  lay  down  upon  the  canvas  and  gathered 
it  about  him.  As  may  be  imagined,  he  could  not 
rest.  His  hearing  seemed  intensely  acute ;  every 
sense  was  on  the  qui  vive  as  he  thus  simulated  the 
dead  man. 

While  it  was  yet  night,  indeed,  in  a  very  short 
time,  he  could  tell,  from  the  cessation  of  motion, 
that  the  lugger  had  come  to  moorings.  He  heard 
the  clatter  and  rub  of  the  cable  in  the  hawse-hole, 
the  distant  splash  of  the  anchor,  the  stamp  of  men's 
7—2 


ioo         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

feet  on  the  deck  above.  Then  his  heart  almost 
ceased  beating.  He  held  his  breath  as  he  became 
conscious  that  somebody  was  approaching. 

'  Where   is  the  ?'   said    a   voice,  with   that 

terrible  blasphemy  which  in  those  days  was  half  a 
seaman's  conversation,  and  which  meant  absolutely 
nothing. 

'  Gawd  knows,  Bill !'  came  the  answer.  '  These  be 
pretty  tough  uns — all  asleep,  every  man  Jack  o' 
them.' 

A  lantern  flashed  its  light  here  and  there. 

1  Split  my  planks  if  he  beant  shoved  up  beside  the 
daft  cuss,  what  looks  half  dead  hisself !  See  him, 
lad?' 

'  Never  mind  him,'  growled  the  other.  '  Get  the 
corpse  on  deck,  and  hurry  up.  Wonder  the  old  man 
didn't  heave  it  over  hours  ago.' 

'  Has  to  see  the  doctor,  sonny.  Much  good  that'll 
do  him!  And  old  Figgis,  he  wouldn't  have  him 
lumbering  up  the  deck.  Are  ye  ready  ?  Then  heave, 
my  hearty.  Gawd !  but  he's  heavy,  and  hardly 
stiff.' 

Neil,  keeping  himself  as  rigid  as  he  could,  and 
imitating  the  inertness  of  the  dead,  felt  himself 
borne  upstairs  amongst  oaths  and  grumbles,  and 
finally  deposited  with  a  bump  on  the  planking.  He 
waited  till  all  was  again  silent,  then,  separating  the 
coarse  folds  of  Jan  Holland's  winding-sheet,  he 
peered  out.  He  recognised  he  was  lying  in  the 
bows  of  the  lugger,  close  by  the  root  of  the  bow- 
sprit. 

Cautiously  he  raised  himself  and  freed  his  head  of 
what,  to  his  almost  morbid  imagination,  seemed 
clammy  and  chill.  The  fore -deck  was  deserted. 
The  night  was  cold,  dark  and  clear,  but  an  irregular 
black  outline  showed  him  in  what  direction  lay  the 
land.  In  a  second  he  was  clear  of  his  wrapping, 
had  crept  to  the  side,  found  the  anchor-rope,  and 
was  afloat.  There  was  a  current  running,  as  he 


AN  ORDER  TO  KEEL-HAUL    101 

could  tell  by  the  way  his  legs  drifted  when  he  hung 
on  by  his  hands  alone.  It  would  carry  him  away 
from  the  vessel,  he  noted. 

He  hesitated  no  longer,  and,  sinking  to  his 
shoulders,  struck  out.  The  water  was  bitterly  cold, 
but  he  was  an  excellent  swimmer.  His  shoes  he  had 
slipped  off,  and  fastened  by  their  laces  round  his 
neck.  He  paddled  easily  till  he  got  a  notion  of  the 
real  direction  of  the  tide.  To  his  joy  he  found  it 
would  aid  him  in  reaching  the  shore ;  then  softly  yet 
swiftly  he  ploughed  his  way  through  the  gently 
ruffled  water,  rejoicing  in  his  liberty,  and  leaving  the 
lugger  Tyfel  silent  as  the  grave. 


CHAPTER  II. 

AN   ORDER  TO   KEEL-HAUL. 

NEIL  DARROCH  was  dripping  wet,  soaked 
to  the  skin  with  brine,  and  wearied  beside. 
He  had  not  the  ghost  of  an  idea  as  to  where 
he  was  save  that   he  stood  on  a  stretch  of  sand 
lapped  by  the  sea  from  which  he  had  just  emerged. 
Nothing  was  visible  but  a  twinkle  of  light  half  a  mile 
off-shore,  a  sparkle  of  yellow  in  the  blackness   of 
night. 

Neil  shook  his  clenched  fist  at  it  and  laughed 
aloud,  for  he  knew  it  to  come  from  the  masthead 
lantern  of  the  lugger  from  which  he  had  just 
escaped.  He  was  free  once  more,  free  to  make  his 
way  back  and  bring  the  man  who  had  foully  wronged 
him  to  an  account.  But  he  was  in  a  miserable 
plight.  It  was  long  before  feeling  returned  to  his 
numbed  toes  and  fingers,  but  even  after  his  blood 
was  coursing  freely  he  kept  going  as  rapidly  as  he 
could,  though  he  had  to  moderate  his  pace  when  he 
came  to  the  end  of  the  sand  stretch  and  got  amongst 
rocks,  ridges,  and  pebbles. 


102          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

Finding  at  last  that,  what  with  pools,  boulders, 
and  slippery  sea  -  tangle,  there  was  considerable 
danger  in  thus  stumbling  quickly  along  in  the  dark- 
ness, he  struck  inland,  and  eventually,  after  crossing 
several  fields  and  ditches,  he  came  upon  a  high-road 
which  ran  parallel  with  the  shore. 

It  was  a  matter  of  indifference  which  direction  he 
took,  and  so  he  walked  blindly  on,  meeting  no  one, 
and  every  moment  of  his  discomfort  adding  to  his 
rage.  Had  any  footpads  thought  fit  to  stop  him, 
they  would  have  found  him  an  ugly  customer  that 
night ;  but  the  place  seemed  deserted,  and  it  was 
with  some  surprise  that,  after  mounting  a  stifnsh 
hill,  he  saw  lights  away  below  him.  From  their 
number  and  their  close  setting,  he  surmised  that  he 
had  come  upon  a  considerable  town,  in  all  prob- 
ability a  seaport. 

He  stopped  to  consider  his  position.  His  clothes 
were  not  his  own,  and  were  still  damp,  all  except 
his  jacket,  which  he  had  managed  to  keep  fairly  dry. 
He  was  absolutely  penniless  :  he  was  ignorant  of  his 
whereabouts,  though  he  fancied  he  must  have  landed 
somewhere  on  the  Welsh  or  English  coast.  It  might 
take  him  weeks  to  work  his  way  home,  and  mean- 
while Kate,  young  and  thoughtless,  might  fall  a 
victim  to  Geoffrey's  villainy.  He  ground  his  teeth 
at  the  idea  of  such  a  thing,  and  hugged  to  himself 
the  anticipation  of  the  surprise  and  dismay  he  would 
produce  in  a  certain  blackguard  when  he  reappeared 
at  Darroch  House. 

But  all  this  brought  him  no  nearer  a  solution  of 
his  difficulty.  He  must  find  food  and  shelter,  and 
he  resolved  to  be  neither  timid  nor  punctilious.  A 
bold  face  and  assured  manner,  he  was  convinced, 
would,  as  on  the  lugger,  serve  him  best,  and  if  pay- 
ment was  demanded  at  once,  he  could  part  with 
some  portion  of  his  clothing,  even  his  shoes,  which 
happened  to  be  of  good  leather.  He  was  beginning 
to  feel  exhausted,  though  it  is  wonderful  how  a  great 


AN  ORDER  TO  KEEL-HAUL      103 

anger  will  sustain  a  man,  and  carry  him  through  the 
most  hazardous  enterprises.  To  some  it  is  a  stronger 
tonic  than  love  or  jealousy. 

He  stopped  at  the  first  house  with  a  signboard 
that  he  came  across.  Though  the  night  was  now 
black  as  Erebus,  the  hour  was  none  so  late,  and 
there  was  a  cheery  light  streaming  from  the  broad 
window,  the  lower  part  of  which  was  screened. 
Neil  entered  a  passage,  and  from  it  passed  into  a 
kind  of  bar-parlour  with  a  sanded  floor  and  a  couple 
of  tables.  The  air  was  heavy  with  tobacco  smoke, 
but  the  room  was  warm,  though  far  from  clean.  A 
coarse-featured  woman  was  apparently  its  presiding 
genius,  and  its  other  tenants  consisted  of  three 
villainous-looking  gentry  in  greasy  clothes  and  fur 
caps  with  ear-protectors,  who  looked  up  from  their 
mugs  as  if  startled  at  his  entrance. 

It  was  not  surprising  that  the  men  looked  startled. 
In  the  first  place,  their  conversation  was  of  a  strictly 
private  nature.  They  had  no  desire  to  be  overheard. 
In  the  second,  Neil  Darroch  presented  a  sufficiently 
curious  appearance.  He  was  a  very  tall  man,  and 
the  clothes  which  had  been  given  him  in  lieu  of  his 
own  were  meant  for  the  average  seaman,  who  tends 
to  be  short,  whatever  his  bulk.  It  was  part  of  the 
men's  business  to  study  the  mariner,  and  they  were 
aware  of  this  fact,  and  recognised  an  out-of-the-way 
type  in  this  big  lean  fellow.  Moreover,  they  noted 
that  his  trousers  had  been  soaking  wet  not  so  very 
long  ago,  and,  with  the  keen  sense  of  their  kind,  they 
began  to  smell  a  mystery. 

'  Frinch  leave,'  whispered  one  of  them,  and  winked 
expressively. 

Neil  scarcely  noticed  them.  He  was  tired,  un- 
comfortable, and  hungry,  and  sat  down  in  a  corner, 
where  presently  the  woman  took  his  orders,  looking 
somewhat  askance  at  him,  but,  to  his  relief,  not  ask- 
ing to  see  the  colour  of  his  money. 

He  was  making  good  play  with  his  knife  and  fork 


104         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

as  one  of  the  men  slipped  out  quietly,  and  he  did 
not  pay  any  attention  to  his  exit,  nor  to  the  entrance 
of  a  squat  little  man,  with  a  roll  in  his  walk,  and  the 
bronzed  face  of  a  voyager. 

The  latter  seemed  disposed  to  be  friendly.  He 
took  a  seat  near  Neil,  and,  calling  for  a  glass  of  hot 
grog,  surveyed  the  premises  with  a  cheerful  smile. 
His  glance  lit  upon  the  two  greasy  characters,  who 
had  produced  a  pack  of  dirty  cards,  and  he  whistled 
softly  to  himself,  and  changed  his  seat,  so  that  he 
faced  them.  He  caught  Neil's  eye  as  he  did  so,  and 
stuck  his  tongue  into  his  cheek,  and  made  a  sign 
with  his  thumb  which  Neil  could  not  interpret.  It 
would  have  been  a  good  thing  for  him  if  he  had. 

*  Evening,  mate,'  said  the  little  man.     '  Junk  and 
duff  good  here  ?' 

Neil  smiled  at  his"  manner  of  speech. 

*  Passable,'  he  said. 
'Eh?' 

'  Passable,'  he  repeated. 

'  Blamed  if  I  know  the  word,'  said  the  questioner  ; 
'  but  ye  stow  'em  well.  Are  ye  at  moorings  ?' 

'  No,'  said  Neil.     *  I  came  in  just  before  you.' 

'  Humph  !'  said  the  little  man.  '  Ye'll  have  your 
certificate  on  you  ?' 

'  Not  I  !'  replied  Neil,  wondering  what  he  meant. 

*  No  ?     Then  ye  had  best  keep  an  eye  on  them 
dirty   dogs.     There's   a   frigate   in   the   offing,    and 
there's  been  boats  moving  about.' 

'  What  do  you  mean  ?'  asked  Neil,  for  the  man 
spoke  in  a  low  voice,  and  had  a  mysterious  air 
about  him. 

'  Crimps,'  whispered  the  other. 

*  You're  making  a  mistake,'  said  Neil.     '  I'm  not  a 
sailor.' 

'  No  offence,  mate — no  offence ;  but  from  your 
duds  I  would  have  said  we  were  of  a  trade,  and, 
anyhow,  them  darned  press-gangs  is  none  too  per- 
tikler.  If  I  were  you,  I  would  make  myself  scarce 


AN  ORDER  TO  KEEL-HAUL    105 

till  I  got  rigged  out  in  other  togs.  Blow  me  if  you 
haven't  the  cut  of  the  sarvice  !' 

Neil  began  to  get  alarmed.  If  what  the  man  said 
was  true,  he  might  find  himself  in  an  awkward  fix. 
All  of  a  sudden  he  noticed  that  one  of  the  party 
opposite  had  disappeared. 

'  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,'  said  he.  '  It  would  be 
difficult  for  me  to  explain  matters  at  present,  and  one 
of  those  fellows  has  gone  out  since  I  came  in.' 

The  little  man  swore  beneath  his  breath. 

'  It's  a  trap,  sir,'  said  he  ;  '  I'll  take  my  davy  on  it. 
They  don't  know  you're  a  gent,  but  I  seed  it  at  once. 
Says  I  to  myself ' 

What  his  reflections  had  been  Neil  was  never  to 
learn,  for  at  that  moment  there  came  a  hurried  sound 
of  footsteps  outside,  and  then  a  loud  knocking  at  the 
door.  The  woman  had  vanished  into  the  back- 
room. Neil  sprang  to  his  feet  as  the  crimps  ran 
to  open  to  the  King's  man. 

'  Nabbed,  by  G !'  said  the  little  seaman,  as, 

headed  by  an  officer,  a  crowd  of  pig-tailed  Jacks  in 
loose  coats  and  wide  flapping  breeches  poured  into 
the  tavern. 

'  A  couple  o'  pretty  birds !'  said  the  lieutenant 
'  You  had  best  come  along  quietly,  my  lads.' 

He  was  a  man  with  grayish,  sandy  hair,  a  freckled 
face,  blotched  and  discoloured,  and  a  pair  of  ferrety 
eyes  which  looked  like  black  beads  in  the  lamplight. 

*  Missed  stays  this  time,  cap'n,'  said  Neil's  friend 
coolly.  '  I'm  mate  of  the  Grampus,  what's  alongside 
the  jetty.' 

'  The  deuce  you  are  !'  cried  the  other  in  a  gruff 
voice.  '  Where's  your  papers  ?  Just  so,'  he  went 
on,  running  his  eye  over  the  sheets.  '  Get  out  and 
be  hanged  to  you !  Lug  the  big  one  along,  boys, 
and  hurry  up.' 

'  Get  out  yourself,'  said  the  mate  of  the  Grampus; 
'  this  here's  a  gent.' 

There  was  a  roar  of  laughter  from  the  frigate's  crew. 


io6         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

'  Looks  like  one  !'  said  the  lieutenant.  '  A  damned 
deserter,  that's  what  he  is.  The  salt's  in  his  ducks 
even  yet.  Blessed  if  he  won't  be  the  fly  dog  who 
played  the  dirty  trick  on  the  lugger  !  We  were  to 
look  out  for  you,  my  man.' 

'  Sir,'  said  Neil,  '  allow  me  to  explain.' 

'  You'll  have  lots  of  time  to  explain  on  the  way  to 
Gib.,  my  fine  fellow.  It'll  keep  your  jaw-tackle  in 
order,  so  stow  your  gab  and  fetch  your  bundle.' 

'  I  tell  you,'  said  Neil  angrily,  *  I  am  not  a  seaman.' 

1  We'll  mighty  soon  make  you  one,  then.  Come 
along,  if  you  don't  want  a  cracked  head ;  and  no 
more  of  your  lies.' 

'  No  more  of  your  impertinence,  you  mean,'  cried 
Neil,  forgetting  the  ludicrous  figure  he  made  in  his 
short-sleeved  jacket  and  shrunken  nether  garments  ; 
'  I'm  a  lawyer,  an  advocate.' 

'  Ay,  ay ;  a  sea  lawyer,'  laughed  the  officer. 
'  Where's  your  proofs  ?  None  to  show,  as  usual ; 
wonder  you're  not  a  mate,  like  all  the  rest  o'  them. 
No,  no,  my  lad  ;  your  spree's  over,  so  no  nonsense.' 

'  I  give  you  fair  warning,'  said  Neil,  '  that  if  one  of 
your  men  so  much  as  lays  a  finger  on  me  I'll  fell  him. 
I've  told  you  the  truth.' 

'  And  so  have  I  when  I  say  you  board  the  Rattler 
this  blessed  night,  for  all  your  yarns.  Seize  him, 
men !' 

But  Neil  did  not  wait.  With  a  bound  he  was 
upon  them.  His  clenched  fist  took  the  lieutenant 
under  the  angle  of  his  jaw,  drove  his  teeth  half-way 
into  his  tongue,  and  sent  him  reeling  against  the 
wall.  The  men  closed  upon  Neil  with  a  rush,  but  he 
struck  out  right  and  left,  and,  aided  by  his  height 
and  their  hampered  movements,  he  cleared  a  way 
through  them  into  the  passage,  while  he  heard  the 
mate  of  the  Grampus  cheering  vociferously  at  his 
exploit.  That  worthy,  indeed,  after  giving  vent  to 
his  feelings,  found  it  advisable  to  clear  out  by  the 
window,  and  so  passes  also  out  of  our  tale. 


AN  ORDER  TO  KEEL-HAUL      107 

Neil's  desperate  bid  for  liberty  might  have  ended 
successfully  had  not  the  man  who  had  brought  the 
pressgang  on  him  remained  outside.  He,  seeing 
how  matters  went,  shut  the  outer  door  and  hung 
on  to  it  by  the  knocker,  while  before  Neil  could 
wrench  it  open  he  was  overpowered  from  behind. 
The  rest  of  that  night  he  spent  as  a  prisoner  between 
decks  in  company  with  a  dozen  others,  some  drunk, 
some  sober,  who  were  to  be  forced  against  their  wills 
to  serve  His  Gracious  Majesty  on  board  the  fine 
frigate  Rattler,  bound  for  the  Mediterranean  with 
sealed  orders,  a  sick  captain,  and  a  first  lieutenant 

who  was  a  disgrace  to  the  uniform  he  wore. 

***** 

It  was  a  dead  calm  day,  not  even  a  ripple  visible. 
The  Rattler  sat  upon  the  water  like  a  ship  fixed  in 
glass.  Her  long  hull,  her  masts  and  shrouds  and 
sails  were  all  faithfully  reproduced  in  the  motionless 
depths  which  bosomed  her  keel  and  a  dozen  and  odd 
feet  of  her  copper-sheathed  bottom.  Her  ensign 
drooped  at  half-mast,  not  a  breath  of  air  stirred  her 
cloths,  which  hung  in  lags  and  lurks  and  wrinkles, 
those  fantastic  shapes  with  lights  and  shadows  on 
them  which  canvas  takes  when  at  full  spread  but  not 
wind-stirred.  There  was  nothing  in  sight  from  the 
decks,  not  even  a  wandering  seabird  or  a  travelling 
porpoise  heralding  his  passage  in  his  own  merry, 
blowing  fashion.  There  was  a  peace  and  rest  over 
all  the  ocean  which  seemed  in  harmony  with  the 
occasion ;  for  a  hammock  lay  upon  a  grating,  and 
within  the  hammock  lay  Captain  Caldecott,  who 
had  resigned  his  command  under  orders  from  a 
greater  power  than  the  Lords  of  the  Admiralty.  The 
crew  stood  in  a  double  line  on  either  side,  bare- 
headed and  uneasy.  It  was  not  merely  that  they 
had  that  aversion  to  a  funeral  at  sea  common  to 
men  of  their  class,  but  they  had  doubts  as  to  the 
future.  The  flag  and  coarse  sailcloth  covered  the 
body  of  one  of  that  great  number  of  loyal  and 


io8         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

honest  gentlemen  who  have  served  England  on  the 
ocean  since  the  days  when  they  donned  armour  and 
darted  from  bay  and  river-mouth  in  the  beak-bowed 
galleys  of  King  Alfred  to  give  battle  to  Dane  and 
Norseman — a  grand  breed  of  men  who  never  failed 
their  country  in  her  need,  firm  yet  kindly,  bluff  and 
hearty,  but  with  thought  for  the  sea-dogs  who  fought 
under  them,  and  bled  and  died  beside  them — men 
without  genius  perhaps,  with  few  talents  and  little 
culture,  but  sailors  to  the  core  and  fighters  to  the 
backbone,  who  could  lead  and  were  followed  with 
that  devotion  which  made  the  name  of  Britain 
terrible  upon  the  high  seas.  Now  and  then  a  man 
more  brilliant  than  his  fellows,  more  daring  or  more 
cunning,  rose  from  their  ranks,  and  such  a  one  was 
worshipped  and  adored,  and  handed  down  his  name 
to  history ;  but  there  is  no  record  of  many  a  plain, 
God-fearing,  French-hating  commander  who  trod 
his  quarterdeck  in  days  of  yore  till  he  stained  it 
with  his  blood,  died  beneath  it  in  his  cabin,  or  left 
it,  maimed  and  wounded,  in  his  prime,  or  at  a  ripe  old 
age,  having  served  long  and  faithfully. 

Captain  Caldecott  had  been  one  of  them,  and  his 
crew  knew  it,  and  knew  there  was  none  like  him  to 
take  his  place. 

Lieutenant  Gasket,  who  had  now  assumed  com- 
mand, belonged  to  another  class,  happily  not 
common,  who  have  left  a  blot  upon  the  red  ensign 
of  St.  George. 

In  the  days  when  the  navy  had  its  hands  full, 
when  every  powder-monkey  heard  the  hum  of  shot 
and  saw  the  splinters  fly,  death  was  busy  on  battle- 
ship and  frigate,  and  promotion  rapid.  It  was  like 
a  skittle-ball,  which  sweeps  down  its  men  at  one 
fell  swoop,  leaving  great  gaps,  and  these  gaps  had  to 
be  filled. 

Now  and  then  the  wrong  men  filled  them,  and 
there  was  the  devil  to  pay,  and  a  record  of  mutiny 
and  marooning,  and  the  hoisting  of  the  black  flag  to 


AN  ORDER  TO  KEEL-HAUL    109 

fill  folks  with  horror,  and  raise  a  doubt  as  to  the 
manning  of  our  wooden  walls. 

Lieutenant  Gasket  was  a  product  of  his  times. 
As  a  boy  he  had  been  given  the  chance  of  a  prison 
or  a  three-decker,  and  had  decided  to  serve  his  King. 
He  had  served  every  able-bodied  man  and  boy  on  the 
ship  as  well,  and  had  lived  to  remember  it.  Cuffed, 
and  kicked,  and  starved  till  the  iron  had  entered  his 
soul,  he  had  become  a  seaman,  and  learned  his  work 
well.  He  was  clever  in  a  shallow  way,  quick  to 
grasp  his  opportunities,  and  civil  to  those  above 
him. 

Thanks  to  these  traits  in  his  character,  he  had 
risen  to  be  a  petty  officer,  hated  and  feared,  and  full 
of  a  zeal  for  those  slight  tyrannies  which  gall  the 
spirit  and  leave  a  rankle  behind  them.  But  he  got 
the  name  of  being  a  smart  officer,  and  made  the 
most  of  it,  willing  to  do  any  dirty  work,  and  finding 
out  exactly  how  far  he  might  go  in  imitation  of  those 
who  had  made  his  life  a  burden  to  him  when  he 
had  first  encountered  a  rope's  end.  He  had  sprung 
suddenly  to  his  late  post,  and  stayed  there,  growing 
gray  and  lean  and  sour,  increasing  his  faculty  of 
getting  work  out  of  his  men  and  himself  disliked, 
and  the  best  officer  in  the  navy  to  head  a  press-gang 
or  deal  with  a  defaulter.  Short-and-Sharp  was  his 
method,  and  his  nickname,  and  the  latter  was 
rarely  mentioned  in  the  midshipmen's  mess  or 
the  'tween  decks  forrard  without  a  garnishing  of 
oaths. 

No  wonder  the  crew  of  the  Rattler  looked  glum 
and  sorrowful  as,  the  hurried  reading  of  the  burial 
service  ended,  the  boatswain's  whistle  piped  long 
and  melancholy,  the  flag  was  whipped  aside,  and 
the  hammock,  with  its  twenty-four  pound  shot, 
flashed  from  the  side  and  cleft  the  surface  of  the 
Bay  of  Biscay. 

John  Gasket  held  supreme  power  at  last,  and  he 
quickly  showed  it  He  counted  it  fortunate  that  he 


no         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

had  something  in  hand  to  occupy  the  men  while  tht 
tiresome  calm  lasted.  The  spectacle  he  was  about 
to  furnish  would,  he  fancied,  establish  him  securely 
in  his  new  position,  efface  lingering  memories  of 
Captain  Caldecott,  and  be  on  the  whole  popular. 
He  had  a  wonderful  knowledge  of  what  passed  in 
the  forecastle,  for  he  believed  in  spies  and  paid  them 
well,  and  so  he  was  aware  that  Neil  Darroch  was  no 
favourite.  He  had  an  old  score  to  pay  off  in  that 
direction,  and  an  excellent  charge  of  insubordination 
to  justify  his  procedure,  and  so,  before  the  men 
dispersed,  the  whistle  piped  again,  this  time  thrice 
merrily,  and  every  man  without  rating  aboard  under- 
stood that  his  skin  would  be  in  danger  from  that  time 
forward  did  he  happen  to  fall  foul  of  Captain  Short- 
and- Sharp. 

Neil  Darroch  had  suffered  a  thousand  miseries 
since  the  night  he  had  been  bundled,  bound  and 
gagged,  on  board  the  frigate.  He  had  little  of  the 
philosopher  about  him  by  this  time,  and  could  not 
reconcile  himself  to  his  altered  surroundings.  He 
made  strenuous  efforts  to  explain  matters,  but  the 
Captain  was  ill,  and  Lieutenant  Gasket,  furious  at 
the  blow  he  had  received,  and  mad  with  the  pain  in 
his  tongue,  had  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  all  his  entreaties, 
while  the  smugglers  had  been  taken  by  a  seventy- 
four,  also  in  need  of  men,  and  Neil  had  no  wit- 
nesses. 

'  The  ship's  sailed,  and  you're  in  her,'  was  his  sole 
answer,  accompanied  by  a  look  which  meant,  '  I'm 
in  her  also,  so  have  a  care.' 

Had  Neil  been  wise  he  would  have  bowed  to  the 
inevitable,  and  made  the  best  of  matters ;  but  who 
can  blame  him  for  acting  otherwise  ?  The  lieutenant 
at  first  had  no  doubts  but  that  Neil  was  lying,  and 
did  not  pay  special  attention  to  him.  When  he  did 
he  found  reasons  of  his  own  for  disliking  him. 

Years  before,  when  he  was  a  petty  officer,  he  had 
been  concerned  in  the  cutting  out  of  a  West  India- 


AN  ORDER  TO  KEEL-HAUL     in 

man.  In  one  of  the  cabins  he  had  come  upon  a 
young  French  girl  of  singular  beauty,  whom  he 
handled  roughly,  stripping  her  of  the  few  rings  and 
trinkets  she  wore,  and  threatening  to  gag  her  if  she 
made  an  outcry. 

In  the  midst  of  his  gentlemanly  occupation  he 
had  been  surprised  by  another  petty  officer  named 
Darroch,  a  man  who  had  risen  rapidly  from  before 
the  mast  and  whom  John  Gasket  hated  with  the 
hatred  begotten  of  jealousy  and  thwarted  hopes. 
Darroch  had  forced  him  to  relinquish  his  prey  and 
threatened  him  with  exposure,  and  he  had  vowed  to 
be  quits  with  the  '  canting  Scotchman.'  But  his 
laudable  resolve  was  never  fulfilled.  They  drifted 
apart  and  did  not  meet  again.  When  therefore 
Lieutenant  Gasket  heard  the  name  of  one  of  the 
pressed  men,  a  name  far  from  common,  he  had  much 
ado  to  conceal  his  excitement.  On  more  careful 
scrutiny  than  had  at  first  been  possible  he  traced  a 
resemblance  between  his  latest  recruit  and  the  man 
whose  memory  he  hated.  But  he  gave  no  one  an 
inkling  of  what  passed  in  his  mind.  He  was  too 
cunning  to  show  personal  spite,  and  though  his 
officers  came  to  wonder  at  the  severity  of  the  punish- 
ment he  meted  out  to  the  unfortunate  Neil,  they 
never  suspected  that  he  was  actuated  by  any  other 
motive  than  a  desire  to  uphold  discipline,  coupled 
with  a  natural  anger  at  the  assault  made  upon  him. 
He  did  not  even  make  certain  he  was  on  the  right 
track.  It  was  enough  for  John  Gasket  that  he  was 
possibly,  nay,  probably,  paying  off  old  scores. 

Neil  had  behaved  foolishly.  The  crew  quickly 
sized  him  up  and  at  first  were  inclined  to  com- 
miserate him,  but  he  would  have  none  of  their  pity  ; 
always  a  solitary  man,  he  was  bewildered  by  the 
company  in  which  he  found  himself. 

He  had  never  had  dealings  with  the  lower  orders 
and  did  not  understand  them.  His  clients  had  be- 
longed to  that  law-crazy  class  who  at  one  time 


haunted  the  precincts  of  the  Parliament  House  in 
Edinburgh,  and  spent  their  time  and  money  in  vain 
litigation  about  the  position  of  a  midden-heap,  or 
the  price  of  a  horse.  He  had  known  how  to  deal 
with  them  in  the  capacity  of  law  adviser,  but  he 
had  little  real  knowledge  of  men. 

Thus  he  turned  the  cold  shoulder  to  their  friendly 
approaches,  and  they  put  him  down  as  a  '  swab ' 
and  a  '  darned  prig,'  and  made  things  unpleasant 
for  him. 

At  first  he  raved  and  stormed,  vowing  vengeance 
in  a  way  which  made  him  look  ridiculous  when  one 
considered  how  impotent  he  was.  After  all,  his  lot 
was  no  worse  than  that  of  many  who  in  those  days 
were  torn  from  the  bosoms  of  their  families,  some- 
times after  having  been  absent  for  many  a  year. 
The  only  wonder  is  that  Britain  was  so  well  served 
by  her  pressed  men.  But  the  sailor  is  tough.  He 
turns  his  quid  and  there  is  an  end  of  his  murmur- 
ings.  He  is  perhaps  the  most  stoical  of  men. 

Things  went  from  bad  to  worse  with  Neil.  The 
Rattler  encountered  heavy  weather,  and  he  wished 
more  than  once  that  he  were  dead.  Finally  he  sunk 
into  a  state  of  sullen  obstinacy.  He  refused  to  do  a 
stroke  of  work,  and  was  promptly  clapped  into  irons 
and  kept  in  solitary  confinement.  This,  far  from 
breaking  his  spirit,  encouraged  him  in  his  resolve  to 
defy  John  Gasket. 

He  heard  that  he  had  the  sympathy  of  some  of 
the  officers,  and  he  hoped  they  would  intercede  for 
him,  but  he  hoped  in  vain. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  his  chief  regret  was  that  he 
had  been  balked  of  his  scheme  of  revenge.  His 
grandfather's  blood  was  coming  uppermost  in  him. 
Strange  to  say,  his  grandfather's  fate  awaited  him, 
for  the  boatswain's  signal  had  meant  a  flogging,  one 
of  the  many  brutal  punishments  supposed  to  be 
necessary  for  licking  the  obdurate  man-of-war's  man 
into  shape. 


AN  ORDER  TO  KEEL-HAUL     113 

A  couple  of  marines  brought  Neil  on  deck.  He 
found  the  crew  drawn  up  on  three  sides  of  a  square 
about  a  carronade  beside  which  stood  a  brawny 
fellow  fingering  the  leaden-tipped  thongs  of  a  cat- 
o'-nine-tails. 

Lieutenant  Gasket  cleared  his  throat. 

'  You  know  me,  my  lads,'  he  said.  '  I'm  of  the  old 
school,  and  when  any  man  don't  obey  my  orders  I 
give  him  a  chance,  a  fair  chance.  If  that  fails  he's 
flogged.  The  prisoner  has  had  his  chance,  but  I  am 
willing  to  go  no  further  this  time  if  he  will  stow 
his  nonsense  and  do  as  he  is  told.  Now,  my 
man,  there's  the  cat  and  here  am  I.  Make  your 
choice.' 

'  I  protest,'  began  Neil. 

'  Make  your  choice  !'  roared  Gasket. 

'  I  appeal  to  these  gentlemen,'  cried  Neil  des- 
perately, nodding  towards  the  officers,  who  were  at 
no  pains  to  conceal  their  disgust. 

'  You  appeal,  do  you  ?'  sneered  the  lieutenant,  who 
had  mastered  his  temper.  '  You  will  find  there's  no 
appeal  from  my  finding,  Mr.  Sea  Lawyer.  Three 
dozen,  and  well  laid  on,'  he  added,  turning  to  the 
man  with  the  cat,  who  was  one  of  his  creatures, 
and  so  had  been  chosen  for  the  office. 

'  Mark  me,'  said  Neil  quietly,  seeing  his  case  was 
hopeless,  '  you  shall  rue  this  some  day ;  and  here 
and  now  I  say  in  your  teeth  that  you  are  a  villain,  sir, 
and  a  liar,  and  I  am  prepared  to  back  my  words.' 

'And  I  am  prepared  to  score  your  back,'  said 
Gasket,  who  was  white  with  suppressed  passion. 
'  This  is  rank  mutiny,  ship's  books  or  no  ship's  books. 
Trice  him  up!' 

He  was  obeyed,  and  Neil,  stripped  and  spread- 
eagled  across  the  cannon's  breech,  suffered  his 
punishment  to  the  full,  took  it  without  a  sound,  his 
eyes  starting  from  his  head  with  pain,  and  his  anger 
almost  stifling  him.  The  tails  curled  about  his  ribs 
and  left  their  trace  in  blood,  a  trace  of  shame  which 
8 


ii4         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

was  indelible.  The  mere  smarting  of  his  torn  skin 
was  as  nothing ;  but  that  he,  a  gentleman  of  an  old 
Scottish  family,  should  bear  such  an  indignity  before 
a  crowd  of  English  seamen,  at  the  orders  of  an  ill- 
bred  upstart  of  low  birth,  touched  him  to  the  quick. 
He  did  not  struggle,  but  there  was  a  harsh  sob  in 
his  throat  as  they  cast  off  the  lashings.  It  had  not 
been  a  specially  heavy  sentence — six  dozen  strokes, 
ay,  and  far  more,  was  not  uncommon  in  those  rough 
times — but  it  would  have  left  many  a  strong  man 
limp  and  broken.  For  a  moment  Neil  lay  panting 
against  the  metal,  spent  and  in  an  agony  of  shame, 
then,  braced  by  his  consuming  wrath,  he  swung 
quickly  round,  and  springing  at  the  lieutenant,  felled 
him  at  one  blow. 

Someone  cheered,  a  ship's  boy  in  all  probability, 
for  the  sound  was  shrill  and  high-pitched,  but  no 
one  stirred  as  Gasket  got  upon  his  feet  and  the  two 
men  faced  each  other. 

*  This  should  mean  a  hanging,'  said  the  lieutenant 
soberly ;  '  but  another  three  dozen  will  teach  you  not 
to  strike  your  superior  officer,  and  will  be  a  lesson  to 
all  here.  There's  no  vice  about  me,  but  we  must 
and  shall  have  discipline.  Trice  him  up !' 

'  Shame  !'  cried  a  voice  as  Neil  was  seized  again. 

'  Mr.  Calthrop,  did  you  notice  who  spoke  ?'  asked 
Gasket  of  the  second  in  command. 

'  I  did  not,'  said  that  officer  untruthfully  ;  '  but  do 
you  not  think  the  man  has  had  enough  for  the 
present  ?  He  looks  as  though  he  would  faint.' 

Indeed,  Neil  presented  a  pitiable  spectacle,  with 
the  long  weals  and  blood-gouts  striping  and  dotting 
his  white  skin,  his  face  pale  and  drawn,  his  eyes 
wild,  his  nostrils  distended,  and  his  mouth  tightly 
shut,  as  if  to  prevent  some  bitter  cry  bursting  forth, 
some  sign  of  weakness  or  distress. 

'  You  think  so,  do  you,  Mr.  Calthrop  ?  Well,  I 
happen  to  know  a  good  old-fashioned  remedy  for 
that.  There's  time  for  it  before  the  breeze  reaches 


YARD-ARM  TO  YARD-ARM   115 

us ;  and  mark  me,  men,  I  am  master  here,  let  there 
be  no  mistake  as  to  that.  Get  a  tackle  on  the  main 
yard-arm,  and  quick  about  it.  This  fellow  has  to 
learn  the  ship,  and  he'll  begin  with  the  keel.' 


CHAPTER  III. 

YARD-ARM   TO  YARD-ARM. 

IT  is  said  that  the  Dutch  invented  the  science  of 
keel-hauling,  but  it  would  be  difficult  to  say 
where  Captain  Gasket  got  the  idea,  as  this 
mode  of  torture  had  long  been  obsolete.  Indeed, 
half  its  charm  vanished  when  barnacles  refused  to 
adhere  to  copper  sheathing,  and  so,  perhaps,  it  passed 
into  disuse.  John  Gasket  was  wise  in  his  generation. 
Had  he  insisted  on  again  flogging  Neil,  he  might 
have  raised  an  ugly  storm  against  himself ;  but  this, 
to  them,  novel  form  of  punishment  appealed  to  the 
crew.  Few,  if  any  of  them,  had  seen  it  in  operation, 
but  most  were  aware  that  in  a  large  ship  it  was  no 
very  dreadful  ordeal,  nothing  to  riding  the  whole 
length  of  the  barnacle-spotted  keel  of  a  small  vessel. 

Thus  they  regarded  it  as  a  mitigation  of  the 
sentence  and  as  an  interesting  spectacle  at  another's 
expense. 

Mr.  Calthrop  did  not  protest  further,  so  far  as 
words  went.  He  merely  quitted  the  deck,  followed 
by  his  brother  officers,  with  the  exception  of  a 
couple  of  midshipmen,  whose  boyish  fancies  con- 
strained them  to  remain,  though  inwardly  they  were 
damning  their  new  captain  with  the  utmost  vigour 
and  sincerity. 

The  calm  had  come  to  an  end,  and  had  been 
superseded  by  an  easy  swell,  the  forerunner  of  a 
westerly  breeze,  which  was  driving  up  a  cloud-bank 
on  the  horizon,  but  was  yet  far  from  the  ship. 

The  Rattler  rolled  a  little,  and  her  yards  dipped 
8 — 2 


ii6          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

first  to  one  side  then  to  another,  but  there  was  no 
difficulty  in  rigging  a  running  rope,  a  bight  of  which 
had  first  of  all  been  dropped  over  the  stern  and 
dragged  along  till  it  rested  amidships.  Neil  Darroch 
was  quickly  made  fast  to  it.  He  did  not  resist,  he 
said  not  a  word  as  he  was  run  up  to  the  end  of  the 
yard-arm,  and  hung  dangling  like  a  man  hanged. 

Presently  the  boatswain  piped  again,  and  he  slipped 
through  the  air  and  entered  the  water  feet  first.  With 
the  instinct  of  self-preservation  he  filled  his  lungs  ere 
he  sank,  and  then  was  dragged  swiftly  downwards. 
The  salt  nipped  his  raw  and  reddened  back  and 
momentarily  quickened  his  senses,  which  had  for  a 
time  been  blunted  by  what  he  had  passed  through. 
But  he  afterwards  had  little  recollection  of  what  he 
felt — of  the  scraping  against  the  frigate's  sheathing 
and  against  her  broad  keel,  of  the  bursting  sensation 
in  his  chest,  relieved  as  he  got  rid  of  the  air  he  had 
taken  in,  and  then  of  the  terrible  oppression,  the 
struggle  for  breath,  the  agony  for  respiration,  for 
the  oxygen  which  is  life  to  a  man.  He  was  uncon- 
scious as  he  left  the  sea  and  was  hoisted  to  the  other 
extremity  of  the  yard. 

The  only  wonder  was  that  he  yet  lived,  but,  as  the 
Rattler  rounded  to  the  breeze  and  sent  the  spray  fly- 
ing from  her  forefoot  and  left  a  wake  behind  her 
stern-post  and  rudder,  Neil  Darroch  began  to  come 
to  himself  in  the  cockpit,  under  the  influence  of  hot 
brandy,  rubbing,  and  the  treatment  of  the  good- 
natured  Irish  surgeon,  who — poor  bibulous  soul ! — 
was  shedding  tears  of  mingled  grief  and  drink  over 
the  pitiable  condition  of  his  latest  patient. 

The  Rattler  fell  in  with  steady  winds  and  dashed 
bravely  on  her  way.  In  those  days  there  was  no 
prettier  sight  at  sea  than  a  first-class  frigate  in  a  breeze. 
What  with  her  bowsprit  ending  in  a  dainty  point, 
the  rakish  set  of  her  dolphin-striker,  the  clean  out- 
line of  her  cutwater,  her  graceful  hull  lined  by  her 
row  of  ports,  from  which  her  cannon  grinned  defiance, 


YARD-ARM  TO  YARD-ARM   117 

her  stern  windows  glancing  in  the  sea  light,  her 
snowy  decks  and  sparkling  brass-work,  her  lofty 
masts  tapering  to  shapely  wands  and  clad  with 
snowy  cloths  from  her  bulging  mainsails  to  her  taut 
top-gallants,  her  flaunting  ensign,  and  the  delicate 
tracery  of  her  standing  and  running  rigging,  she  was 
the  embodiment  of  sauciness  and  speed.  She  might 
not  have  the  stately  majesty  of  the  huge  line-of-battle 
ship,  whose  vast  swelling  bows,  tiers  of  guns,  tower- 
ing sides  and  clouds  of  canvas  filled  the  beholder 
with  a  sense  of  power  and  grandeur,  but  for  all  that 
she  was  the  favourite.  Gallant  craft  they  were,  and 
very  different  from  the  long,  black,  steel-clad,  smoke- 
belching  cruisers  which  have  ousted  them  from  their 
ocean  hunting-grounds,  and  drive  nose-deep  into 
a  sea  and  against  the  teeth  of  gales  which  would 
have  sent  the  old  wooden  walls  scudding  before 
them  under  bare  poles  and  with  hatches  battened 
down. 

Outwardly,  the  Rattler -was  as  smart  a  frigate  as  any 
in  commission,  inwardly  she  was  a  floating  hell.  Her 
lieutenant  commandant  was  a  dyspeptic  and  had  the 
temper  bred  of  indigestion  in  addition  to  his  natural 
vindictiveness  and  acquired  sourness  of  disposition. 
His  sudden  access  to  power  seemed  to  have  turned 
his  head.  His  usual  caution  deserted  him  in  large 
measure.  He  found  fault  with  trifles,  he  quarrelled 
with  his  officers,  he  docked  the  men  of  their  tot  of 
grog,  he  gave  them  no  peace,  putting  them  through 
cutlass  drill,  fire  drill,  small-arms  exercise,  and  a 
dozen  other  wearying  performances  till  life  was  a 
burden  to  them.  He  was  possesssed  of  an  over- 
weening conceit,  and  was  determined  to  make  a 
name  for  himself  as  a  frigate  captain.  He  certainly 
very  quickly  made  a  name  for  himself  on  board,  but 
not  of  the  kind  he  hankered  after,  though  such  was 
his  nature  that  he  found  some  pleasure  in  being 
known  as  a  harsh  martinet.  He  fondly  dreamed  of 
an  admiral's  pennant  and  a  jewelled  sword,  but  came 


n8         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

nearer  an  ounce  of  lead  in  his  lean  carcass,  placed 
there  by  his  own  crew. 

English  seamen  stand  much.  There  is  a  dogged, 
obedient  spirit  in  them  which  rarely  changes  to  that 
of  resistance.  They  are  probably  more  amenable 
to  discipline  than  any  other  race  or  profession. 
There  has  always  been  a  very  small  proportion  of 
Scots  in  the  navy,  though  more  than  their  fair  share 
in  the  Merchant  Service.  The  reason  is  simple.  The 
Scotchman,  as  an  English  naval  captain  once  re- 
marked, inelegantly  but  aptly,  '  is  too  beastly  inde- 
pendent.' 

But  there  comes  a  time  when  the  English  tar  gets 
his  back  up.  He  will  stand  any  amount  of  discipline, 
but  he  will  not  long  brook  oppression.  When  this 
mood  comes  upon  him,  he  is  not  to  be  trifled 
with.  Woe  betide  the  commander  who  goads  him 
revolt !  Once  let  a  crew  make  up  their  minds  to 
to  hate  an  officer  or  to  mutiny,  they  rarely  alter 
their  feelings  or  draw  back,  provided  they  have  a 
leader.  They  are  like  sheep  in  some  ways,  and 
there  are  no  more  obstinate  animals  than  those 
woolly  quadrupeds. 

Things  went  smoothly  enough  for  a  week  after 
Neil's  punishment,  though  there  was  grumbling  and 
discontent  at  Gasket's  fads  and  methods  ;  but  by 
the  time  Neil  was  on  his  feet  and  ready  for  revenge 
he  found  a  suitable  material  to  his  hand.  There  is 
nothing  more  wearying  and  exasperating  than  a  wet 
ship,  and  the  Rattler  was  wet  enough  to  swim  in. 
Off  Finisterre  she  met  a  capful  of  wind  and  a  jabble, 
which  set  her  dipping  bows  under  and  flooded  her 
scuppers.  She  dipped  and  dripped  and  would  not 
run  easily,  trim  her  as  they  might.  The  snoring 
breeze  became  a  stiff  sou'wester,  and  the  sou'wester 
a  three  days'  gale.  It  was  a  case  of  lying-to,  close- 
reefed  and  battened  down,  a  lurching  rush  and  an 
easy  slide,  up  and  down,  down  and  up,  with  now 
and  then  a  clean  sweep  of  tons  of  salt  sea  from  the 


YARD-ARM  TO  YARD-ARM   119 

cat-heads  to  the  poop-stairs.  The  wind  shrilled  in 
twanging  notes  through  the  shrouds,  and  sang  its 
storm-song  amongst  the  yards  and  round  the  tops. 
The  rain  showers,  coming  and  going  as  the  vapour 
masses  drifted  overhead,  hissed  and  spluttered,  and 
the  great  drops  danced  and  hopped  upon  the  soak- 
ing planks.  It  was  cold  and  cheerless,  like  an 
autumn  day  on  the  German  Ocean,  rather  than  a 
day  in  the  latitude  of  sunny  Spain. 

There  was  no  danger,  no  deadly  lee  shore,  no  need 
for  anchors  out  and  a  firm  holding ;  there  was 
plenty  of  sea-room,  and  nothing  to  do  but  wait. 

It  was  weary  work,  and  the  men  had  time  to  count 
the  number  of  floggings  which  had  taken  place  since 
Gasket  took  over  command. 

'  Mind  ye,'  said  one,  '  I'm  not  sayin'  he  ain't  a 
sailor — he  knows  the  ropes,  none  better — but  of  all 
the  blamed  ramrods  and  lanterned-jawed  skippers! 
A  nagger  he  is,  and  no  mistake — nag  to-day,  nag 
to-morrow,  and  on  Friday  it's  vinegar  and  the  cat. 
Bile  me  alive  if  I  ever  seed  such  a  termigint !' 

'  Bedad,  and  that's  thrue !'  growled  a  son  of  Erin. 
"  Be  aisy,  Cap'n  dear,"  says  I,  seein'  him  all  av  a 
sweat ;  and  the  dirthy  baste  heard  me  in  a  twinklin', 
and  put  me  on  senthry  duty,  like  a  lobster.  He's  the 
sowl  av  a  tom-cat  and  the  snort  av  a  grampus, 
bad  luck  to  his  bones  !' 

'  Ay,  ay,'  chimed  in  another.  '  There's  Mr.  Bowl- 
ing, a  nice  bit  o'  a  lad  as  don't  mind  ye  bavin*  a 
whiff  in  a  dog-watch.' 

'  A  broth  av  a  boy,'  quoth  the  Irishman. 

'  And  I'm  blowed  if  this  'ere  Gasket  don't  go  and 
masthead  him  from  three  bells  till  sundown  in  this 
blessed  smother  all  for  skylarkin'  with  the  cat  in  the 
gun-room.  The  kid  was  fair  froze  and  doing  his 
best  not  to  blubber  when  he  came  down.  A  black 
shame  I  call  it.' 

'  And  yet  you  stand  it,'  said  a  voice. 

Neil  Darroch  had  been  reluctantly  discharged  from 


120         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

the  sick-bay  by  the  surgeon,  and  had  entered  un- 
observed. 

'  Sorra  a  bit,'  replied  the  Irishman ;  '  there's  no 
standing  in  this  divil  av  a  bucket.  It's  belay  mate, 
and  the  soup  on  the  outside  av  yer  stomach  instid  av 
ballastin'  ye.' 

The  others  laughed,  and  Neil  saw  that  he  had  no 
chance  just  then  of  making  headway  with  them, 
But  he  altered  his  conduct.  He  had  got  his  sea-legs 
by  this  time,  and  he  turned  out  with  the  rest,  and 
ran  aloft  when  ordered.  He  took  care  not  to  appear 
too  willing,  but  his  behaviour  was  such  as  to  confirm 
Gasket  in  the  efficacy  of  his  treatment. 

'  Look  there,  sir,'  he  said  to  Mr.  Calthrop  ;  *  that's 
what  comes  of  having  served  before  the  mast.  You 
know  your  men  and  how  to  handle  them.  A  clever 
scamp,  that  Darroch.  I  half  believed  his  yarn,  and 
look  at  him,  sir :  lays  out  upon  the  yards  like  a 
monkey,  and  knows  more  than  you'd  think.  "  A 
lawyer,"  says  he.  "  Sea  lawyer,"  says  I,  "  and  be 

to  you  !"  It's  a  pity  you  hadn't  my  training, 

sir.' 

To  all  of  which  Lieutenant  Calthrop  answered 
nothing,  but  bowed  in  a  way  his  senior  officer  secretly 
envied,  and  even  practised  before  his  glass  as  likely 
to  prove  useful  when  he  ruled  a  three-decker.  In 
the  old  days  Neil  would  never  have  resorted  to  the 
methods  he  employed  for  carrying  out  his  plan  of 
revenge  against  Gasket.  He  would  have  scorned  to 
sow  discontent,  to  whisper  here,  to  drop  a  word 
there,  to  be  sarcastic  before  men  who  could  appre- 
ciate his  biting  tongue,  to  speak  bluntly  before  those 
who  could  make  nothing  of  a  hidden  meaning.  It 
would  have  gone  against  his  grain  to  have  to  watch 
for  Gasket's  spies,  to  have  to  choose  his  opportuni- 
ties, to  have  to  flatter  and  cajole.  At  times  his  soul 
revolted  from  the  meanness  of  the  thing,  but  ever 
there  would  come  the  thought  of  those  shameful 
scars  to  goad  him  to  further  efforts.  Just  then  he 


YARD-ARM  TO  YARD-ARM   121 

was  a  little  queer  in  the  head.  There  was  a  strain 
of  wildness  in  the  family  of  Darroch,  and  he  had 
not  been  the  same  man  since  the  injury  to  his 
brain. 

He  had  brooded  over  his  wrongs  till  they  filled  the 
whole  field  of  his  vision  and  haunted  him  like  a 
nightmare.  In  his  dreams  he  would  see  the  weals 
upon  his  back  like  bloody  fingers  pointing  out  the 
path  he  was  to  tread.  Had  it  been  possible  he  would 
have  fought  Gasket  fairly  man  to  man ;  but  it  was 
not,  and  so  he  had  recourse  to  the  only  feasible 
method,  regardless  of  what  might  happen,  provided 
only  he  could  gloat  over  the  lieutenant's  fall. 

There  was  something  repulsive  in  this  absorbing 
passion,  and  he  knew  it.  At  times  it  came  home  to 
him  with  startling  force,  and  he  would  wonder  at 
himself,  but  again  the  thought  of  the  shame  to  which 
he  had  been  put  stirred  him  to  his  heart-strings.  A 
hot  pride  possessed  him,  and  he  moved  amongst  the 
men  like  an  evil  spirit — like  the  enemy  who  in  the 
night  sowed  tares. 

He  was  fiendishly  clever  in  his  way.  It  had  been 
his  business  to  refute  arguments,  to  detect  flaws  in 
specious  statements,  to  build  up  a  good  case  upon 
slender  grounds.  And  here  he  had  plenty  to  go 
upon,  men  easily  influenced,  and  none  too  logical. 
He  was  never  precise  in  his  utterances ;  he  merely 
hinted,  talked  vaguely,  and  let  rumour  and  idleness 
do  the  rest,  and  so  gradually  there  came  to  be  a 
decided  opinion  that  it  would  be  well  for  all  hands  if 
Captain  Gasket  were  removed  and  Mr.  Calthrop  set 
in  his  place.  There  was  no  idea  of  a  general  mutiny; 
some  were  in  favour  of  a  round-robin  addressed  to 
the  officer,  and  pointing  out  that  Mr.  Gasket  had 
not  been  appointed  captain,  that  his  promotion  had 
not  been  confirmed,  and  that  the  men  were  dis- 
satisfied with  the  treatment  they  received  from  him. 
Others  favoured  a  marooning,  the  officers  being 
surprised  and  kept  locked  up  till  '  Short-and-Sharp  ' 


122         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

had  been  sent  adrift.  The  big  Irishman  who  had 
come  in  for  the  cat  considered  that  there  was  nothing 
'  loike  shovin'  the  dirthy  blaggyard  overboard  av  a 
dark  night  if  it  was  rough,'  and  expressed  his  willing- 
ness to  do  the  deed,  which,  being  reported  by  some 
eavesdropper,  resulted  in  the  master- at-arms  and 
bread-and- water  diet  for  poor  Mike,  and  a  threat  of 
another  keel-hauling,  the  last  having  proved  so  satis- 
factory. 

The  Rattler  should  have  touched  at  Gibraltar,  but 
for  reasons  of  his  own  Lieutenant  Gasket  considered  it 
better  to  carry  on,  explaining  that  he  bore  despatches 
for  the  Mediterranean  fleet,  and  had  already  lost 
nearly  a  week  as  the  result  of  calms  and  rough 
weather.  In  his  inmost  soul  John  Gasket  was 
thirsting  to  distinguish  himself.  A  successful  action 
would  almost  certainly  secure  to  him  the  post  he 
held.  There  had  never  been  any  doubt  as  to  his 
courage.  A  bully,  some  say,  cannot  be  brave.  He 
may  not  possess  that  self-sacrificing  heroism  which 
is  the  finest,  as  it  is  the  rarest,  form  of  courage ;  but 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  bullies — that  stamp  of 
them,  at  least,  who  are  cruel  from  the  belief  that 
such  cruelty  is  necessary — may  be  possessed  of  no 
little  valour.  History  has  proved  it.  The  martinet 
is  indeed  rarely  a  coward. 

It  is  very  different  with  the  wretch  who  loves  to 
inflict  pain,  who  takes  a  pleasure  in  making  men's 
lives  a  burden.  Such  villains  are  for  the  most  part 
poltroons ;  but  John  Gasket  was  not  one  of  these. 
He  had  been  bred  in  a  rough  school,  and  believed  in 
its  teaching.  A  disordered  stomach  and  a  long, 
disappointing  career  had  irritated  and  embittered 
him  ;  he  was  not  a  gentleman  by  birth,  he  was 
narrow-minded,  and  so  he  was  brutal  in  a  cold,  calcu- 
lating way.  But  he  had  a  fiery  ambition  stowed 
away  somewhere  out  of  sight,  and  half  his  prepara- 
tions, which  had  wearied  and  angered  the  crew,  had 
been  to  make  sure  of  victory  in  the  event  of  an 


YARD-ARM  TO  YARD-ARM   123 

engagement.  He  was  willing  to  attack  anything 
from  a  corvette  to  a  hundred-gun  ship,  for  he  feared 
his  chance  might  pass.  There  had  been  rumours  of 
peace  before  the  Rattler  left  England.  It  had  been 
the  general  opinion  that  at  last  the  power  which  had 
convulsed  the  whole  of  Europe  was  nearly  spent, 
the  master-spirit  well-nigh  broken.  The  allies  had 
conquered  on  every  hand,  and  were  bent  on  crushing 
Napoleon.  They  had  united  in  a  great  effort  to 
defeat  and  humble  him,  and  none  on  board  the 
frigate  knew  how  it  had  ended. 

Gasket  perhaps  feared  to  learn  that  hostilities  had 
ceased.  It  may  have  been,  as  Midshipman  Bowling 
averred,  that  his  talk  about  despatches  was  '  all  my 
eye.'  Anyhow  the  Rattler  passed  through  the 
straits  on  a  westerly  wind  and  hauled  to  the  north, 
heading  for  the  Gulf  of  Lyons.  A  French  6o-gun 
ship,  from  the  West  Indies,  which  had  also  slipped 
past  the  fortress  rock  and  was  bound  for  Marseilles, 
pointed  her  bowsprit  in  the  same  direction,  and  as 
the  frigate  was  under  easy  sail  and  the  Frenchman 
in  a  mortal  hurry,  and  a  fast  traveller  besides,  it 
befell  one  fine  morning  that  the  look-out  in  the 
Rattler's  fore-top  espied  the  royals  of  a  tall  ship  to 
the  south  and  hailed  the  quarterdeck  to  that  effect. 
Lieutenant  Gasket  was  below,  but  hurried  up  at  the 
news,  and  went  aloft,  so  eager  was  he  to  make  out 
the  nationality  of  the  stranger.  He  had  not  spent 
all  his  life  at  sea  for  nothing,  and  by  the  time  her 
top-gallants  showed  he  was  half  convinced  she  would 
display  the  tricolour.  And  so  it  proved.  She  was  a 
large  vessel  with  yellow  sides,  and  came  up  rapidly, 
sailing  two  feet  to  the  frigate's  one. 

'  We'll  trick  her,  Mr.  Calthrop,'  said  Gasket.  '  Get 
a  French  flag  at  the  gaff  and  beat  to  quarters.' 

The  drums  rattled  out  their  summons,  the 
magazine  was  opened,  and  shot  and  powder  served. 
The  Rattler  held  easily  upon  her  way. 

'  Now,  lads,'  said  Gasket  to  the  men,  who  were 


i24         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

mustered  aft,  '  no  cheering,  but  yonder  comes  a 
Frenchman,  who  has  to  change  his  colours  before 
night.' 

The  men's  faces  bore  witness  to  their  feelings.  In 
the  excitement  of  a  coming  fight  the  greater  number 
forget  their  animosity  to  the  lean,  ugly  officer,  who 
in  his  nervous  tension  kept  buttoning  and  unbutton- 
ing his  long  blue  coat,  and  clearing  his  throat  and 
spitting  over  the  side.  His  behaviour  was  not 
dignified,  but  he  showed  no  trace  of  fear. 

'  I  haven't  flogged  the  rogues  for  nothing/  he 
remarked  to  Calthrop  as  he  noticed  the  smart  way 
the  men  went  to  their  posts.  '  I  only  hope  the 
Mounseers  won't  turn  tail.' 

'  The  French,'  replied  the  lieutenant  with  an 
emphasis  on  the  word, '  rarely  do  so,  sir,  till  they  have 
tried  conclusions.' 

'  Ay,  ay,'  said  Gasket,  '  but  we'll  conclude  them, 
though,  by  the  Lord  !  she  carries  heavy  metal.  I've 
seen  that  hull  before.  They  call  her  the  T oolong ; 
maybe  you've  heard  tell  of  her  ?' 

4  Not  by  that  name,  sir,'  said  Calthrop  with  the 
suspicion  of  a  smile. 

He  was  a  quiet,  pale-faced  little  man,  whose 
ancestors  had  served  afloat  for  generations,  and  he 
was  amused  and  a  trifle  annoyed  at  Gasket's  nervous- 
ness when  in  command.  He  put  it  down  to  lack 
of  breeding,  for  he  had  his  own  ideas  as  to  an 
officer's  proper  behaviour,  and  hated  fuss  and  dis- 
play of  any  kind.  His  commander  did  not  perceive 
the  drift  of  his  remark,  but  continued  his  pre- 
parations till  it  was  clear  the  enemy,  whatever 
their  suspicions,  had  no  intention  of  altering  their 
course. 

Meanwhile  a  great  struggle  was  going  on  in  Neil 
Darroch's  mind.  As  soon  as  he  heard  there  was  a 
likelihood  of  an  engagement  he  had  devised  a  plan 
before  which  his  other  plot  sank  into  insignificance. 
He  remembered  that  he  had  the  same  blood  in  him 


YARD-ARM  TO  YARD-ARM   125 

as  had  those  who  manned  the  ship  to  windward. 
He  had  no  love  for  England.  On  the  contrary,  the 
history  of  his  family,  his  own  experiences,  the  point 
of  view  from  which  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
regard  his  country's  past,  caused  him  to  dislike, 
indeed  almost  to  hate,  the  dominant  partner.  At 
the  same  time  the  idea  which  had  come  into  his 
head  disturbed  him  mightily.  Man  is  the  creature 
of  his  environment,  and  part  of  Neil's  life  had  done 
something  to  efface  his  early  memories  and  pre- 
judices. He  had  found  the  Scottish  capital  loyal, 
Whiggish,  and  ultra-British.  A  few  of  the  old-time 
Jacobites  remained,  and  many  yet  clinked  glasses  to 
a  famous  toast,  and  wore  a  white  cockade  upon 
occasion,  but  there  had  been  none  of  that  fierce, 
consuming  passion  which  had  possessed  old  Ian 
Darroch.  Jacobitism  was  dead.  It  had  degenerated 
into  something  like  old  lace — something  rare,  out- 
of-date  and  ornamental,  and  was  considered  very 
becoming  to  a  vapouring,  hoary-headed  gentleman 
in  knee-breeches  and  ruffles,  or  an  elderly  dame 
with  a  turban  and  hooped  petticoats.  Neil  had 
recognised  this  at  first  with  sorrow  and  surprise, 
then  with  equanimity,  though  he  never  wavered  in 
his  beliefs.  He  had  cheered  with  the  crowd  at  the 
news  of  a  victory,  he  had  approved  of  bonfires  and 
volunteers,  but  naturally  enough  he  had  never 
seriously  considered  the  allegiance  he  professed  to 
the  British  crown.  Indeed,  being  a  great  reader, 
he  had  conceived  an  admiration  for  his  mother's 
country,  for  her  literature,  her  art,  her  fascinating 
history,  her  prowess  on  the  field.  Buonaparte's 
marvellous  deeds  had  thrilled  him  as  they  thrilled 
many  who  had  no  kinship  with  France.  He  had 
never  found  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  his  Gallic 
blood.  Was  it  not  a  tie  between  him  and  the 
woman  he  had  loved  and  lost,  thanks  to  a  villain 
who  was  wholly  English  in  breeding  if  not  in  birth  ? 
What  did  he  owe  to  England?  An  impoverished 


126         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

home,  a  back  marked  like  a  malefactor's,  punishment 
and  insult  for  no  adequate  reason.  Why  should  he 
have  to  fight  her  battles,  and  perhaps  die  in  her 
cause  ?  he  asked  himself.  He  put  out  of  sight  the 
fact  that  it  was  a  British,  not  an  English  craft, 
whose  decks  he  paced.  This  was  not  surprising, 
for  the  former  word  was  not  used  on  board.  There 
was  not  a  single  Scot  in  the  frigate's  company.  He 
had  no  sympathy  with  any  of  the  crew  or  officers. 
Some,  he  knew,  were  good  fellows ;  but,  as  he  said 
to  himself,  there  were  just  as  worthy  men  serving 
under  the  tricolour — men  to  whom  he  was  bound  by 
closer  ties,  who  had  never  wronged  him,  who  would 
welcome  him  amongst  them,  and  recognise  his 
position.  Why  should  he  not  revolt  ?  A  whole 
nation  had  declared  its  independence  for  much  less 
than  he  had  suffered  He  recalled  tales  of  the 
famous  Paul  Jones,  son  of  a  Kirkcudbright  gardener, 
who  had  made  his  name  a  terror  along  the  British 
coast,  and  had  risen  to  distinction.  He  remembered 
the  long  roll  of  Scottish  men  of  family — his  ancestor 
among  them — who  had  fought  with  honour  for  the 
old  royal  flag  of  France.  He  was  aware  that  at 
least  one  of  Napoleon's  marshals  was  a  countryman 
of  his  own.  There  could  be  no  disgrace,  he  said 
to  himself,  in  throwing  in  his  lot  with  the  enemies 
of  John  Gasket. 

Besides,  if  his  scheme  succeeded,  he  would  have 
turned  the  tables  with  a  vengeance.  He  knew  the 
fierce,  proud  spirit  with  which  England's  sons  in 
those  days  ruled  the  seas.  Could  he  but  in  some 
measure  tame  it,  could  he  but  make  Gasket's  name 
a  by-word  in  every  seaport  town,  could  he  but  land 
him,  a  broken,  sick-hearted  man,  in  a  French  prison, 
the  first  part  of  his  revenge  would  be  complete. 
His  conscience  was  free  ;  he  had  signed  no  papers ; 
he  had  been  captured,  and  was  in  reality  a  prisoner 
himself.  A  mixture  of  feelings,  it  will  be  seen,  urged 
him  on,  and  who  shall  say  which  weighed  the  most 


YARD-ARM  TO  YARD-ARM   127 

with  him  when  he  cried  exultingly,  '  I'll  do  it,  so  help 
me  God!' 

His  plan  was  no  less  than  the  resolve  to  put  the 
Rattler  at  the  mercy  of  her  antagonist.  His  notion 
was  to  gain  access  to  the  magazine,  and  threaten  to 
blow  the  frigate  to  pieces  if  she  did  not  instantly 
surrender.  This  daring  design  was,  he  found, 
frustrated  by  the  presence  of  a  guard  of  marines, 
who,  he  fancied,  looked  upon  him  with  suspicion. 
He  slunk  back  as  he  noticed  them,  and  as  he  came 
out  of  the  narrow  passage  a  gruff  voice  hailed 
him: 

'  Now  then,  you  there,  no  skulking  !'  shouted  the 
captain  of  the  lower  deck.  '  Away  with  you  aft,  you 
shore-going  swab  !  Here,  Billy,  take  him  to  your 
gun  and  see  he  does  his  duty.' 

The  powder-monkey  grinned  ;  but  he  was  friendly 
enough  with  Neil,  who  followed  him,  trying  to  shake 
off  a  feeling  of  shame  which,  argue  as  he  might, 
possessed  him. 

By  a  curious  chance  he  found  the  gun's  crew  com- 
posed largely  of  men  with  whom  he  had  influence. 
Some  of  them  had  been  pressed  like  himself,  others 
were  the  sweepings  of  gaols  and  crimp-houses,  few 
of  them  trained  seamen,  and  he  knew  that  one  and 
all  hated  Gasket  as  much  as  he  did.  They  looked 
sullen,  and  were  clearly  not  fired  by  any  enthusiasm. 
Neil's  ready  brain  began  to  scheme  anew,  to  imagine 
afresh,  as  soon  as  he  saw  them. 

Meanwhile,  the  Frenchman  had  come  up  in  gallant 
style,  threshing  and  plunging  on  the  silver-laced 
swell,  her  amber,  black-dotted  sides  showing  up 
against  the  rich  blue  of  the  sea,  that  glorious  sapphire 
hue  for  which  the  Mediterranean  is  famed.  A 
cluster  of  red-capped  men  thronged  her  bows,  her 
guns  were  run  out,  her  nettings  rigged,  and  the  roll 
of  a  drum  came  over  the  waters  as  she  beat  to 
quarters. 

Her  captain  was  no  greenhorn,  and  had  his  doubts 


128         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

of  the  trim  black  frigate  with  the  striped  flag  at  her 
gaff.  As  soon  as  Gasket  saw  that  the  enemy  had  no 
desire  to  avoid  a  contest  if  it  was  forthcoming,  he 
threw  deception  to  the  winds.  Down  came  the  tri- 
colour, and  up  went  a  Jack  in  its  place,  and  the  red 
cross  to  the  masthead. 

As  the  bunting  fluttered  out,  a  shout  came  from  the 
Frenchman's  decks  and  a  cheer  from  the  frigate, 
which  crowded  sail,  and,  veering,  stood  across  the 
Frenchman's  bows,  resolved  to  engage  her  to  leeward 
lest  she  should  change  her  mind  and  attempt  to 
escape. 

As  she  did  so,  the  Frenchman  opened  fire  with  her 
fore-deck  guns,  long  eights  and  heavy  carronades. 
Flash  and  boom,  flash  and  boom,  out  thundered  her 
cannonade,  and  the  battle  smoke  drifted  in  sulphurous 
clouds  from  her  sides;  then,  to  foil  her  adversary, 
she  filled,  wore,  and  came  to  on  the  opposite  tack, 
and  again  half  a  broadside  hurtled  its  round-shot  at 
the  Rattler.  The  frigate's  sails  showed  seams  and 
rents  and  holes,  many  a  rope's  end  dangled  loose 
aloft,  a  spar  or  two  came  rattling  down  upon  her 
planking.  Again  she  manoeuvred,  and  again  was 
baffled  and  received  the  fire  of  the  great  yellow 
ship. 

'  Blow  them !'  yelled  Gasket ;  '  they're  no  fools. 
Mr.  Calthrop,  run  us  to  close  quarters,  sir,  and  see 
she  don't  rake  us.' 

It  was  a  bold  measure  to  sail  right  at  the  enemy  to 
windward,  but  the  frigate  bore  down  on  her  adversary, 
grim  and  silent,  while  the  Frenchman's  ports  spouted 
flame,  and  white  water-jets  sprang  upwards  from  the 
swells  on  which  the  Rattler  rode,  and  her  hull  was 
streaked  where  the  shot  met  it  and  glanced  off. 

'  Ready,  men  !'  roared  Gasket,  his  face  hot  with 
excitement,  his  whole  thoughts  centred  on  the 
moment 

It  looked  as  if  the  frigate  would  strike  her  foe 
amidships,  but  suddenly  she  swung  round  within 


YARD-ARM  TO  YARD-ARM   129 

pistol-shot,  till  her  whole  broadside  was  brought  to 
bear,  and  then  in  one  ear-splitting  discharge  her 
eighteen  cannon  belched  forth  their  iron  hail,  and 
swept  the  Toulon's  decks. 

'  Give  it  her  again,  my  lads  !'  shouted  Calthrop,  and 
his  middies  echoed  his  order. 

Round,  grape,  and  musketry  did  their  fell  work, 
and  made  a  shambles  of  both  craft,  but  the  Rattler 
suffered  more  than  her  opponent,  whose  heavier 
broadside  at  such  close  range  did  deadly  execution. 

'Too  hot  to  last,  sir,'  said  Calthrop,  as  a  man 
beside  him  was  cut  almost  in  half.  '  We're  a  wreck 
aloft,  and  she'll  forge  ahead  and  cross  our  bows.' 

'  Will  she  ?'  cried  Gasket,  with  an  oath.  '  Then 
we'll  give  them  the  cutlass,  sir,  and  finish  it  quick. 
Hard  a-port,'  he  bellowed  through  his  trumpet,  '  and 
prepare  to  board  !  Out  grapplings,  and  stand  by  to 
repel  boarders !  Send  Mr.  Harper  forrard,  and  see 
to  the  small  arms,'  he  added.  '  Where's  the  wind  ? 
Curse  it !  she's  slow,  sir — she's  slow.' 

But  if  slow,  she  was  sure.  Her  bow  pointed  towards 
the  Toulon,  the  strip  of  sea  between  them  lessened. 
Steered  to  a  nicety,  she  ran  along  the  Frenchman's 
side,  with  hand  grenades  and  musket-balls  raining 
down  upon  her,  and  found  herself  at  last  where  the 
British  tar  loved  to  place  his  ship,  yard-arm  to  yard- 
arm. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   EXILE 

NOW  began  a  battle  more  fierce  and  terrible 
yet  like  a  hundred  others  the  seas  had  wit- 
nessed in  the  course  of  the  long  war  waged 
by  the  greatest  maritime  nations  of  the  world. 

Lashed  together,  gripped  by  the  grappling-irons, 
rising   and    falling   on   the  swell,   drifting   with    the 
breeze,  the  two  vessels  poured  a  deadly  fire  into  each 
9 


i3o         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

other.  Their  sides  were  scorched  with  flame,  their 
paint  burst  into  blisters  and  cracked  and  peeled ;  a 
dense  canopy  of  smoke  enveloped  them,  and  from 
its  midst  rose  their  masts,  their  tattered  sails,  their 
hanging  cordage.  Amongst  it  their  crews  fought 
like  fiends,  sponging  and  ramming,  loading  and 
running  out,  cheering  and  sweating. 

In  those  days  there  was  no  particular  uniform  for 
the  British  seaman.  Some  fought  in  their  glazed 
billycock  hats,  some  bareheaded,  many  had  handker- 
chiefs bound  about  their  brows.  Some  were  naked 
to  the  hips,  others  were  clad  in  variously  coloured 
shirts  open  at  the  breast  and  rolled  up  to  the 
elbows.  The  officers  and  the  marines  alone  were 
distinguished.  There  were  some  score  jof  the  latter 
on  board  the  Rattler,  and  they  stood  in  a  red  line 
upon  the  main  deck  pouring  in  volleys  or  picking  off 
men  in  the  Toulon's  tops,  as  cool  as  if  on  parade. 

The  din  was  deafening:  the  roar  of  the  great 
guns,  the  crackle  of  musketry,  the  crashing  thunder 
of  a  whole  broadside,  mingled  with  the  tearing,  rend- 
ing sound  of  splintering  wood,  the  rattle  of  falling 
blocks  and  spars,  the  flapping  of  sails  loose  in  the  bolt 
ropes.  Hoarse  orders  were  bawled  from  quarterdeck 
to  forecastle,  shot  hummed  or  shrieked  overhead,  a 
babel  of  shouts  and  cries  rang  out  across  the 
waters. 

Twice  the  French  crew  essayed  to  board,  leaping 
downwards  in  swarms  upon  the  Rattlers  deck — 
swarms  of  swarthy,  agile  seamen,  most  of  them 
bearded  to  the  eyes,  and  all  tanned  by  a  tropic 
sun. 

Half  of  them  never  returned  the  way  they  came, 
so  fiercely  were  they  opposed.  Man  grappled  with 
man,  steel  clashed  on  steel,  and  pistols  flashed  in  the 
pan  a  couple  of  yards  from  their  targets. 

There  was  charging  and  counter  -  charging,  and 
flank  attacks,  till  the  frigate  was  cleared  at  a  heavy 
cost,  and  yet  all  the  time  a  dozen  cannon  continued 


THE  EXILE  131 

to  belch  their  missiles,  though  not  a  few  were  too  hot 
for  handling. 

The  Toulon  was  firing  red-hot  shot  from  some  of 
her  guns  forward,  and  the  Rattler  s  crew  were  busy 
slinging  water  on  the  flames  which  sprang  up  greedily 
in  the  track  of  the  glowing  balls.  A  cock  on  the 
French  ship,  liberated  from  a  shattered  poultry  coop, 
crowed  defiance,  till  a  musket-ball  carried  away  his 
head  and  gaping  beak. 

Great  splinter-fringed  gaps  showed  in  the  masts, 
more  than  one  of  which  quivered  ominously  as  their 
sails  now  and  then  bulged  out  before  a  waft  of  the 
breeze  which  the  heavy  cannonade  had  not  entirely 
quelled.  The  planking  of  both  craft,  lately  as  trim 
and  white  as  holystone  could  make  it,  was  now 
blackened  with  powder  smoke,  and  stained  with 
terrible  crimson  splotches,  which  turned  rapidly  to 
dark,  maroon-coloured  crusts. 

Coils  of  rope,  empty  buckets,  bits  of  spars,  frag- 
ments of  clothing,  loose  shot,  cutlasses,  boarding 
pikes,  discarded  pistols,  boat-stretchers,  shattered 
boat  timbers  and  other  de'bris  littered  the  decks. 
Men's  bodies  lay  around  the  gun  breeches  limp  or 
stiffening,  straight  or  curved.  The  wounded  were 
being  borne  to  the  cockpit,  where,  in  the  low-roofed, 
ill-lighted  space,  they  were  ranged  against  the  bulk- 
heads, each  to  wait  his  turn,  or  to  die  before  that 
turn  came.  The  place  reeked  of  hot  tar  and  vinegar, 
and  the  piteous  moans  and  cries  of  agony  spoke  to 
the  horror  and  disgrace  of  such  a  contest.  And  yet 
its  glory  and  romance  blotted  out  such  scenes  as 
these,  and  few  thought  of  war's  misery  and  hideous 
aspect.  Perhaps  it  was  as  well  in  those  days,  for  one 
nation  at  least  was  fighting  for  existence.  Neil 
Darroch  all  this  time  had  stood  by  the  gun-carriage, 
lever  in  hand,  and  done  what  was  required  of  him. 
His  comrades  fell  fast,  and  the  men,  untrained  to  the 
work,  had  turned  sick  at  the  sights  they  saw.  Some 
who  had  been  dragged  on  board  like  Neil  were  soon 
9—2 


132          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

mere  mangled  heaps,  the  victims  of  as  vile  a  tyranny 
as  was  ever  justified  by  a  stern  necessity.  The  others 
looked  at  them,  and  though  they  fought  doggedly, 
Neil  could  see  that  they  felt  themselves  sacrificed,  that 
they  were  bitter  against  the  men  who  had  forced  them 
to  risk  their  lives.  It  was  the  same  at  the  next  two 
ports,  for  by  a  curious  coincidence  the  most  discon- 
tented men  on  board  seemed  to  be  gathered  aft.  Yet 
they  were  not  allowed  to  slacken  in  their  efforts. 

The  gunners,  who  were  old  sea-dogs,  were  fighting 
heart  and  soul.  It  was  their  business  to  win  their 
country's  battles  without  question,  and  they  trained 
their  cannon  and  cried  cheerily  to  their  crews,  who 
after  a  time  entered  into  '  the  fun  of  the  thing,'  as 
Mr.  Bowling  called  it.  Neil  alone  did  not  grow  ex- 
cited. He  kept  strangely  calm,  listening  to  the  din 
till  he  was  deaf  as  a  post,  watching  the  Frenchmen 
at  the  port  opposite,  who  were  as  active  as  cats  and 
served  their  eight-pounder  as  if  it  had  been  a  toy. 
Suddenly  the  captain  of  Neil's  gun  staggered,  even  as 
he  held  the  lanyard,  and  with  a  little  cry  of  wonder 
fell  flat  upon  his  back,  shot  through  the  chest.  The 
men  looked  at  each  other  in  dismay.  None  but 
novices  were  left.  Almost  at  the  same  moment  Neil 
saw  the  Frenchmen  rush  from  their  cannon.  It  was 
now  the  turn  of  the  Rattlers,  who  were  boarding  the 
Toulon,  led  by  Lieutenant  Calthrop. 

'  This  is  Gasket's  work,'  said  Neil,  looking  about 
him. 

The  men  did  not  answer ;  the  full  meaning  of 
what  he  said  came  home  to  them,  but  they  were 
afraid. 

'  Look  here  !'  he  cried.  '  Are  we  to  be  flogged  and 
starved  and  shot  like  dogs,  to  please  him,  and  help 
him  to  win  promotion  ?  I'm  going  aboard  that 
Frenchman,  lads,  and  you  can  come  if  you  like.  I'll 
be  quits  with  him  before  the  day's  done ;  we're  free 
men,  not  galley-slaves.' 

'  That's  so  !'  shouted.a  sullen,  heavy-featured  rogue, 


THE  EXILE  133 

who   had   picked   oakum   in   his    day.      'Lead    on, 
and '  he  ended  with  a  string  of  foul  oaths. 

'  Fetch  a  plank,  then,'  said  Neil,  now  full  of  his 
project  and  with  all  his  doubts  gone.  There  were 
only  half  a  dozen  to  follow  him,  but  he  knew  the 
effect  their  presence  on  the  enemy's  side  would  have. 

They  quickly  ran  a  plank  from  port  to  port,  and, 
headed  by  Neil,  crossed  one  after  another  to  the 
Toulon's  under  deck,  which  they  reached  unopposed. 

'  Now,'  said  Neil,  '  follow  me.  I  can  speak  to  them, 
so  all  will  be  well.' 

The  men  grinned.  Neil  could  not  help  feeling 
ashamed  of  these  traitorous  Englishmen,  but  they 
served  his  purpose.  He  could  not  regard  himself  in 
the  same  light  ;  he  had  quieted  his  conscience  most 
effectually.  He  made  them  put  on  the  caps  of  the 
dead  Frenchmen  they  found,  and  mounting  the  com- 
panion stairs,  came  out  upon  the  main-deck,  where  a 
fierce  fight  was  raging.  The  Rattlers  had  boarded 
forward,  and  driven  the  Toulon's  crew  before  them, 
but  the  latter  had  been  reinforced  from  below,  and 
were  now  making  an  effectual  stand,  slashing  and 
firing,  and  shouting  to  encourage  one  another. 

The  moment  was  critical.  Neil  and  his  body  of 
turncoats  were  in  the  rear  of  the  Frenchmen.  He 
saw  at  once  how  matters  stood,  and  ran  forward 
shouting  out : 

'  Voila  vos  amis  !  Vive  la  France,  a  bas  les  Anglais !' 

But  he  ran  forward  alone.  His  men  had  also 
recognised  the  situation,  and  it  proved  too  much  for 
them.  They  could  see  their  shipmates  closely  pressed, 
and  the  blood  in  them  was  stronger  than  their  thirst 
for  vengeance  on  a  flogging  captain. 

'  Bile  me,'  cried  one  of  them,  '  if  I  help  the  Parlez- 
voos !' 

They  stood  irresolute,  and  then  there  arose  a  great 
cheer  from  below,  and  up  came  tumbling  the  crews 
of  the  next  two  guns,  who  had  seen  them  cross  the 
plank,  and  had  followed  hot-foot. 


134         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

Neil's  men  threw  away  their  red  caps.  '  Hurrah  !' 
they  yelled,  and  the  whole  crowd,  some  of  them 
armed  with  anything  they  could  pick  up,  rushed  at 
the  foe.  A  few  of  the  hindmost  French  had  turned 
at  Neil's  shout,  but  seeing  one  man,  had  paid  little 
attention  to  him.  As  they  turned  again,  the  English 
sailors  were  upon  them.  For  a  minute  or  two  Neil 
could  not  understand  what  had  happened.  By  the 
time  he  did  he  was  mixed  up  with  the  swaying, 
struggling  mass  of  men,  forced  to  defend  himself,  sick 
at  heart  owing  to  the  failure  of  his  plan,  which,  half 
mad  though  it  was,  had  yet  promised  so  well.  Its 
results,  however,  were  striking  enough.  Instead  of 
its  winning  the  day  for  the  Toulon,  it  completed  the 
rout  of  her  crew.  Attacked  front  and  rear,  the 
bewildered  Frenchmen,  who  had  been  growing  con- 
fident of  victory,  lost  heart.  They  strove  bravely, 
their  captain  falling,  run  through  by  Calthrop,  who 
was  an  expert  swordsman,  but  they  fought  in  vain. 
A  panic  seized  them  ;  they  threw  down  their  arms 
and  cried  for  quarter,  which  for  a  moment  was  denied 
them.  They  sprang  below,  and  fled  in  all  directions, 
hunted  to  death,  till  orders  were  obeyed  after  the 
tricolour  was  struck  and  the  red  cross  in  its  place. 
Then,  and  not  till  then,  did  the  roar  of  the  great 
guns  cease,  and  the  hellish  din  come  to  an  end,  leaving 
two  battered  ships  filled  with  the  fruits  of  war. 

The  frigate,  though  the  conqueror,  had  suffered 
more  severely  than  her  antagonist.  John  Gasket  was 
no  more.  He  had  been  promoted  to  the  great 
majority  by  a  shower  of  grape,  and,  whatever  his 
faults,  had  died  bravely  enough.  Out  of  a  total 
ship's  company  of  272,  no  less  than  five-and-fifty 
had  lost  the  number  of  their  mess,  and  twice  that 
number  were  wounded,  some  desperately.  Of  the 
Toulon's  330  souls,  forty  were  ready  for  the  sail- 
maker  and  the  weighting-shot,  and  half  as  many 
crippled  for  life,  while  there  was  scarcely  a  prisoner 
without  a  wound  of  some  sort 


THE  EXILE  135 

The  Rattler  had  to  stand  by  her  prize,  which  had 
received  several  shots  between  wind  and  water,  while 
the  frigate  herself  was  in  a  sorry  plight  aloft,  and  her 
mizzen-mast,  after  seeing  the  fight  through,  collapsed, 
and  added  to  the  melancholy  of  the  spectacle. 

Neil  Darroch  was  in  a  state  of  the  utmost  dejection. 
He  took  part  with  the  rest  of  the  crew  in  swabbing 
and  clearing  the  decks,  and  this,  added  to  his 
depression,  nearly  sickened  him.  His  ruse  had  had 
exactly  the  opposite  result  from  what  he  had  intended. 
There  was  something  ludicrous  in  its  remarkable 
effects,  but  he  was  in  no  position  to  appreciate  the 
grim  humour  of  the  situation.  He  felt  dazed  and 
stunned.  While  the  ships  bombarded  each  other  he 
had  forced  himself  to  keep  cool  and  collected,  but 
when  at  last  his  opportunity  came  he  had  gone  wild 
with  excitement.  He  had  been  madly  eager  for  success, 
fully  realizing  the  boldness  of  his  bid  for  freedom, 
and  lo !  he  had,  so  to  speak,  cut  his  own  throat. 
Curiously  enough,  the  danger  of  his  position  did  not 
appeal  to  him.  He  never  thought  of  the  men  who 
had  known  his  design  and  had  followed  him.  It 
would  be  easy  for  them  to  denounce  him  and 
exonerate  themselves.  They  had  merely  to  assert 
that  they  had  boarded  the  Frenchman  from  very 
different  motives  to  those  which  had  influenced  their 
leader.  Their  acts  spoke  for  themselves,  and  who 
was  to  deny  the  truth  of  such  a  statement  ?  And  yet 
Neil  never  troubled  his  head  as  to  whether  any  of  his 
band  of  irresolute  traitors  survived  or  not.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  only  two  of  them  had  fallen,  and  there 
might  be  four  witnesses  to  compass  his  ruin,  for  to  be 
convicted  of  such  a  design  could  mean  nothing  but 
the  death  sentence  and  a  hempen  noose. 

The  first  thing  to  rouse  him  was  the  news  that 
Gasket  was  dead.  The  second  was  still  more 
startling.  He  had  been  sent  below  with  a  gang  of 
men,  and  as  he  returned  on  deck  he  happened  to  be 
the  last  of  his  party.  The  Toulon  had  been  put  to 


136         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

rights  by  this  time,  cleaned  and  made  ship-shape  with 
that  marvellous  celerity  which  characterizes  the  man- 
of-war's  man  when  he  puts  his  back  to  a  job.  They 
were  still  busy  on  board  the  frigate,  splicing  and 
knotting,  and  bending  new  sails,  for  she  was  a  terrible 
wreck  aloft,  but  Calthrop  had  drawn  up  part  of  his 
command  on  the  Frenchman's  main  deck  and  was 
already  telling  off  a  prize-crew.  It  was  at  this 
moment  that  Neil  emerged  from  the  hatchway,  his 
tall  figure  dishevelled  and  begrimed,  his  clothes 
bloodstained,  his  face  so  black  with  powder  that  its 
miserable  look  could  not  be  seen. 

The  instant  the  men  caught  sight  of  him  they 
burst  into  round  after  round  of  cheering.  In  their 
hearty,  manly  way  they  forgot  or  put  aside  any  past 
dislike  to  the  silent,  sneering  man  who,  in  their 
opinion,  had  acted  like  a  hero  and  turned  the  tide 
of  battle  in  their  favour.  The  four  men  who  knew 
differently  chanced  to  be  on  board  the  Rattler,  and 
they  so  far  had  held  their  tongues.  Rough  and 
ignorant,  they  were  at  first  afraid  to  make  any  charge 
which  might  possibly  reflect  upon  themselves.  Their 
little  game  would  probably  be  private  blackmail, 
but  as  yet  they  had  not  had  time  to  settle  their 
plans. 

So  the  others,  never  dreaming  how  far  they  were 
from  the  mark,  gave  vent  to  their  feelings.  Neil, 
downcast  and  bitter,  had  not  the  least  idea  that  they 
were  cheering  him.  He  thought  that  the  lieutenant 
had  been  addressing  the  men  on  their  victory,  and  he 
wondered  at  the  rapid  change  which  had  come  over 
the  sullen,  dispirited  crew,  who,  from  being  half 
mutineers,  had  cheerfully  obeyed  orders  and  fought, 
many  of  them  to  the  death.  He  had  yet  to  learn  that 
the  English  seaman  of  that  date  was  a  curious 
mixture  of  good  and  bad  ;  indeed,  he  did  not  in  the 
least  understand  the  English  nature  at  all.  He  had 
judged  them  on  the  belief  that  they  would  act  as  did 
the  MacGregors  and  MacPhersons  at  Dunblane,  the 


THE  EXILE  137 

Macdonalds  at  Culloden,  but  in  the  Saxon  there  is 
not  the  same  stubborn,  insane  pride  as  in  the  Celt. 
He  had  erred  and  paid  heavily  for  his  error. 

Lieutenant  Calthrop  turned  to  see  what  was  the 
matter.  A  smile  came  into  his  pale  face,  paler  than 
ever,  for  he  had  a  broken  arm  in  a  sling  and  a 
bandaged  head. 

He  walked  up  to  where  Neil  was  standing,  and 
held  out  his  hand. 

'  I  am  proud  of  you,  my  man,'  he  said,  in  a  loud 
voice ;  and  then  added  in  a  half- whisper,  '  You  will 
come  to  my  cabin  at  eight  to-night,  Darroch.' 

The  crew  cheered  again.  Neil,  scarce  knowing 
what  he  did,  took  the  officer's  hand,  and  then, 
suddenly  seeing  what  was  meant,  he  started  back, 
his  face  working  convulsively,  a  hot  feeling  of  shame 
rising  within  him. 

1  What's  the  matter  ?'  said  Calthrop  kindly.  '  Are 
you  wounded  ?' 

Neil  could  stand  the  stress  no  longer.  These,  the 
first  friendly  words  he  had  heard  for  many  a  day, 
the  startling  ovation  he  had  received,  the  knowledge 
of  what  all  but  himself  would  regard  as  base  and  low 
and  traitorous,  proved  too  much  for  him.  To  the 
lieutenant's  astonishment,  he  gave  a  wild  laugh, 
which  had  not  a  vestige  of  amusement  in  it,  and 
rushed  down  the  companion  stairs.  There  he  threw 
himself  into  a  corner,  and,  strong,  proud  man  though 
he  was,  gave  way  to  a  passionate  burst  of  grief. 

Mr.  Calthrop  had  been  at  a  loss  to  understand 
Neil's  strange  behaviour,  but  he  knew  how  a  battle 
will  shake  men's  nerves,  and  though  he  rather  feared 
the  man  might  lose  his  reason,  he  hoped  to  find  him 
recovered  at  their  next  interview. 

His  expectation  was  justified.  Neil  Darroch 
entered  his  presence  calm  and  composed.  His 
storm  of  sorrow  had  done  him  good.  He  had  no 
feeling  against  Calthrop,  and  bowed  as  he  was 
ushered  in  and  found  the  lieutenant  alone.  The 


138         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

comfort  of  the  cabin,  with  its  padded  lockers,  cheery 
oil-lamp,  and  sparkling  glass,  appealed  to  him.  He 
was  sick  to  death  of  his  dark  bunk  and  crowded 
quarters  forward,  sick  of  the  coarseness  of  his  com- 
panions, and  the  rough-and-ready  fare  he  had  been 
forced  to  consume.  He  thought  he  saw  an  end  to  it 
all,  for  he  regarded  Calthrop  as  a  just  man,  and  he 
held  up  his  head  proudly  enough  after  acknowledging 
the  officer's  presence. 

'  Shut  the  door,  Raites,'  said  Calthrop  to  the  cox- 
swain of  the  late  captain's  gig,  who  was  in  attend- 
ance, '  and  tell  the  guard  to  let  no  one  past  without 
my  orders.' 

The  man  tugged  at  his  forelock  and  withdrew. 

'  Now,  sir,'  said  Calthrop,  '  we  are  here  as  equals ; 
take  a  seat  and  pour  yourself  out  a  finger's  length.' 

He  pushed  a  square  bottle  in  Neil's  direction ;  he, 
however,  shook  his  head. 

'  As  you  will,  then,'  said  the  lieutenant.  '  But 
first  I  have  to  thank  you  for  what  you  did  to-day  ; 
you  took  a  noble  revenge  upon  us,  and  I  for  one 
heartily  regret  what  has  passed.  There's  my  hand 
upon  it.' 

Neil  flushed  and  half  rose. 

'  I  cannot,'  he  said  hoarsely. 

Calthrop  looked  surprised. 

'  I  meant  it  kindly,'  he  said  coldly ;  '  but,  of  course, 
if  you  prefer  to ' 

'  No,  no,'  broke  in  Neil ;  '  you  misunderstand  me.' 

He  was  upon  his  feet  now,  his  face  drawn  and 
white,  and  Calthrop  noticed  how  gaunt  and  haggard 
he  had  become. 

'I  beg  your  pardon,  then,'  said  the  lieutenant. 
'  You  had  better  confide  your  whole  story  to  me,  and 
let  me  advise  you.  I  have  tried  to  get  speech  with 
you  before,  but  you  seemed  to  avoid  me.' 

This  was  perfectly  true.  Latterly  Neil  had  been 
in  no  mood  for  sympathy,  now  he  did  not  hesitate. 
He  resolved  to  tell  the  truth  and  shame  the  devil,  for 


"What!"  shouted  Calthrop  leaning  across  the  table. — Page  139. 


THE  EXILE  139 

somehow,  since  he  had  failed,  his  project  looked 
blacker  than  previously,  and  he  experienced  a  haunt- 
ing sense  of  guilt. 

'  I  have  to  thank  you  for  your  courtesy,'  he  said, 
in  a  low  voice,  '  but  you  have  made  a  great  mistake, 
sir.  I  am  in  a  false  position.' 

'  Of  course,  of  course,'  answered  Calthrop  testily— 
he  hated  long-windedness,  this  active  little  man — 
'  we  all  know  that.' 

'  No,  sir,  you  do  not,'  said  Neil  firmly  but  quickly. 
'  I  speak  of  to-day  alone.  You  seemed  to  think  I 
boarded  the  Toulon  to  bring  you  help.  I  did  not.' 

'  What !'  shouted  Calthrop,  leaning  across  the 
table.  'Pardon  me,'  he  immediately  added,  'but 
your  statement  bewilders,  sir.  What  was  your  idea  ?' 

'  I  went  to  help  the  French.' 

'  You  damned  traitor !'  cried  the  little  officer. 
'  This  is  too  much !' 

'  I  shall  pass  over  your  remark,'  said  Neil  quietly, 
and  almost  as  if  he  were  the  judge  ;  '  only  pray  listen 
to  me.' 

'  God  knows  if  I  should,'  said  Calthrop  ;  '  it  should 
be  handcuffs  at  once.' 

'I  think,  sir,  I  have  the  honour  of  addressing  a 
gentleman.' 

'  Proceed,'  said  the  lieutenant  curtly. 

And  then  Neil  told  his  tale.  He  had  not  a  little 
of  his  grandfather's  talent  for  narration,  and  as  he 
warmed  in  his  speech  the  look  of  disgust  left 
Calthrop's  face. 

'Think  of  it!'  cried  Neil  as  he  came  to  speak  of 
his  flogging.  '  Think  of  what  it  meant  to  me — the 
disgrace,  the  marks  I  can  never  get  rid  of,  the  forced 
submission  to  a  brute  like  Gasket !' 

Calthrop  made  a  slight  sign  of  dissent,  but  Neil 
never  paused. 

'  Think  of  it,  sir,  and  all  without  cause  !  And, 
then,  what  torture  was  that  to  inflict  even  for  a  blow 
— to  be  trussed  like  a  fowl  and  half  drowned  like  a 


140         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

dog !  Great  heavens  !  I  only  wonder  I  did  not  tear 
him  in  pieces  and  make  an  end  of  myself.  Look 
at  me !  People  will  take  me  for  a  felon.  And, 
listen,  this  hatred  of  the  English  is  in  my  blood. 
My  grandfather  was  lashed  as  I  have  been,  branded 
for  life — and  why?  Because  he  did  not  fear  to 
champion  a  just  cause.  I  am  partly  a  Frenchman 
by  birth,  and  is  it  any  wonder  I  turned  against  you  ? 
I  am  no  traitor,  sir,  but  I  am  a  man  who  was 
desperate  and  hounded  to  this  deed.  Had  I  been 
in  your  place,  I  would  not  have  suffered  Gasket  or 
anyone  else  to  do  what  he  did  to  a  prisoner,  innocent 
and  defenceless.' 

'  We  are  not  here  to  discuss  my  failings,  Mr. 
Darroch,  and  you  have  not  yet  explained  how  the 
men  came  to  follow  you.' 

Neil  had  no  wish  to  incriminate  the  poor  wretches. 

'  I  suppose  they  thought  as  you  did,'  he  said 
bitterly,  '  and  so  came  after  me.  You  have  heard  my 
story.  I  have  failed,  and  I  cannot  honestly  say  I  am 
glad  that  I  did  not  succeed.' 

'  A  moment,'  said  Calthrop.  '  Was  it  fear  that  the 
men  might  possibly  suspect  you  and  inform  me  that 
induce'd  you  to  make  this  confession  ?' 

*  No,  sir ;  it  was  not.  I  am  not  a  cur,  whatever 
my  faults.' 

'  I  believe  you,  Mr.  Darroch,  and  I  am  glad  of  it. 
You  have  had  a  hard  time  and  deserve  sympathy. 
The  point  upon  which  I  am  inclined  to  lay  most  stress 
is  your  semi-French  origin.  In  your  position,  I  do 
not  know  but  that  I  would  have  acted  as  you  have 
done.  I  have  no  wish  to  speak  evil  of  the  dead,  but 
our  late  captain  is  well  away.  For  all  that,  his  treat- 
ment would  not  have  justified  the  course  you  took 
had  you  been  an  Englishman.  As  it  is,  I  cannot 
find  it  in  my  heart  to  blame  you,  though  I  must 
decline  your  company.  You  will  forgive  my  pre- 
judices, but  the  very  thought  is  distasteful  to  me, 
and  yet  you  did  a  very  brave  thing,  hang  me,  sir,  if 


THE  EXILE  141 

you  didn't !  only  I  think  you  must  have  been  mad, 
and  no  wonder,  poor  fellow,  no  wonder  !' 

As  Lieutenant  Calthrop  concluded  the  longest 
speech  he  ever  made  in  his  life,  he  found  it  convenient 
to  blow  his  nose  vigorously  and  cough  once  or  twice. 

Neil  stood  silent,  wondering  what  was  to  come 
next.  Meanwhile  Calthrop  became  again  the  quiet, 
self-possessed  man  he  appeared  in  public.  He 
motioned  Neil  to  sit  down. 

'  What  you  have  just  told  me,  Mr.  Darroch/  he 
said,  '  naturally  alters  my  plans  concerning  you.  I 
have  said  that  I  hold  you  free  from  punishment,  but 
mark  me,  should  the  crew  get  an  inkling  of  this  it 
would  be  awkward.  Have  you  any  suggestion  to 
make  ?' 

'  None,  sir.' 

'  Very  well,  I  think  you  had  better  return  to 
Gibraltar  in  the  prize.  We  are  short  of  officers,  and 
Mr.  Bowling  must  take  charge  of  her.  Of  course, 
you  go  as  a  seaman,  but  you  should  find  opportunities 
to  get  home  when  you  reach  the  port.  I  will  give 
your  officer  a  hint,  as  well  as  the  master's  mate  who 
accompanies  him.  I  wish  no  thanks,  and  I  doubt 
much  if  I  am  doing  my  duty,  but  I  shall  answer  for 
that  some  day,  when,  perhaps,  we  may  meet  again. 
I  may  say  frankly  I  have  no  desire  to  fall  in  with 
you  till  then,  Mr.  Darroch,  though  I  bear  no  malice. 
And  now  good-night.  Might  I  ask  you  to  send 
Raites  to  me  ?  You  sail  at  daybreak  to-morrow,  if  the 
Touloris  leaks  are  got  under  by  then.' 

He  turned  to  some  papers  on  the  table,  and  Neil, 
with  a  short  bow,  left  him.  He  scarcely  knew  what 
to  think.  The  lieutenant  had  been  kind  in  a  way  of 
his  own,  but  had  scarcely  veiled  his  contempt,  although 
he  had  been  at  pains  to  view  the  matter  from  Neil's 
standpoint 

'  He  thinks  I  have  done  a  vile  thing,'  groaned  Neil 
to  himself;  'but  if  only  he  had  those  scores  upon  his 
shoulders,  if  he  could  but  understand  what  I  have  lost 


142          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

besides  !  And  yet,'  he  added  fiercely,  '  my  time  will 
come,  and  Geoffrey  will  smart  all  the  more  for  what  I 
have  suffered.' 

His  head  throbbed,  his  throat  felt  parched,  and  it 
was  a  very  different  man  who  boarded  the  Toulon  for 
the  second  time. 

The  Rattler  and  her  prize  parted  company  as  thin 
streaks  of  morning  light  showed  away  in  the  east, 
while  it  was  yet  half  night,  and  the  sea  stretched 
faint  and  dark  and  ghostly  on  every  hand,  shrouding 
in  its  depths  men  who  the  day  before  had  sailed  it 
bravely,  and  now  awaited  the  last  trump  and  the 
giving  up  of  its  dead.  There  was  no  occasion  for 
their  having  died  ;  the  battle  had  been  a  huge  mistake. 
It  had  been  a  bad  thing  for  poor  Gasket  that  he  had 
not  touched  at  Gibraltar,  for  there  he  would  have 
heard  that  peace  had  been  concluded,  and  other  news 
still  more  wonderful. 

The  Rattler  stood  off  to  the  south  and  east  with  a 
jury-mast  rigged  ;  but  her  prize  lay  much  where  she 
was  for  a  couple  of  days,  as  shortly  after  her  consort's 
departure  the  mainmast  went  by  the  board  in  a  totally 
unexpected  manner,  carried  with  it  the  foretop- 
mast,  and  crushed  the  larboard  bulwarks  and  two  of 
the  prize  crew.  The  others  refitted  her  as  best  they 
could,  but  Neil  Darroch  was  not  of  their  number. 
He  lay  below  in  a  half-unconscious  state,  and  added 
another  load  of  anxiety  to  the  unhappy  midshipman's 
already  overburdened  mind.  Thus  it  happened  that 
the  British  frigate  Undaunted,  making  an  offing  from 
Marseilles  and  bound  for  the  Gulf  of  St.  Raphael  on 
a  unique  mission,  fell  in  with  the  drifting  and  dis- 
abled Toulon,  and  Captain  Usher  nearly  scared  Mr 
Bowling  out  of  his  wits.  That  dignified  little  morta; 
would  take  no  help,  but  transhipped  his  invalid  tt 
the  doctor's  care,  and  quite  forgot  to  send  his  strange 
and  eventful  story  with  him. 

The  Undaunted  had  been  summoned  by  Colonel 
Campbell,  the  British  Commissary,  and  no  one  on 


THE  EXILE  143 

board  troubled  himself  much  about  the  wretched 
man  in  the  sick-bay,  who  raved  and  talked  nonsense, 
for  it  was  the  general  opinion  that  the  Undaunted  was 
to  undertake  a  duty  which  would  render  her  name 
historic.  She  was  to  convey  the  hapless  Emperor 
from  France  to  Elba,  from  what  had  been  his  empire 
to  his  island  kingdom.  But  of  all  this  Neil  knew 
nothing.  He  did  not  hear  the  salute  of  twenty-four 
guns,  the  tribute  Britain  paid  to  her  vanquished 
enemy.  He  did  not  see  the  square-set  little  man 
with  the  subdued  look  upon  his  somewhat  puffy  face, 
and  the  glitter  in  his  eyes.  He  was  not  a  witness  of 
the  remarkable  change  Napoleon  wrought  in  the  feel- 
ings of  the  English  seamen  towards  him  ere  four  days 
had  passed.  Inclined  at  first  to  exult  over  his  mis- 
fortune, they  had  found  him  affable.  He  was  pleased 
to  be  amused  at  their  coarse  humour.  He  even  tried 
to  converse  with  them,  and  laughed  at  his  own  mis- 
takes. There  was  a  curious  blending  of  dignity  and 
dejection  in  his  bearing,  a  gentle  sadness  which 
became  him  well,  and  touched  even  the  rough-and- 
ready  man-o'-war's  men.  By  the  time  he  disem- 
barked at  Porto  Ferrajo  he  was  a  prime  favourite 
with  every  man  and  boy  on  board,  who  had  watched 
him  during  a  trying  time,  which  had  followed  what 
was  perhaps  the  most  dangerous  period  in  his  career. 
As  a  salvo  of  one-and-twenty  guns  roared  its  part- 
ing from  the  frigate,  and  was  answered  by  a  similar 
greeting  from  the  forts  Stella  and  Falcone,  the  British 
crew  with  one  accord  joined  in  the  cheering  which 
welcomed  the  ruler  to  his  mockery  of  a  kingdom, 
and  the  great  hills  around  echoed  and  re-echoed  to 
the  unwonted  sound.  But  of  all  this  Neil  Darroch 
knew  nothing ;  he  lay  in  a  state  of  blissful  stupor  in 
the  sick-bay  of  the  Undaunted. 


144          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 


CHAPTER  V. 

CRASPINAT 

A  LTHOUGH  Carlo  Massoni  knew  where  Cras- 
/-\  pinat  lodged,  although  he  had  visited  the 
place  before,  yet  he  experienced  a  difficulty 
in  finding  it  again.  Not  that  this  was  wonderful. 
Paris,  though  greatly  altered,  still  contained  parts 
where  the  narrow,  filthy,  and  winding  streets  consti- 
tuted a  maze  through  which  a  man  might  wander 
from  one  tortuous  lane  to  another,  and  find  no  land- 
mark to  guide  him. 

It  was  in  such  a  spot  that  the  thing  called  Craspinat 
had  its  abode,  an  underground  dwelling,  dark  and 
dismal,  which  the  sun's  light  never  reached — the  very 
existence  of  which  was  unknown  to  those  who  lived 
hard  by ;  for  this  Craspinat  was  a  night-bird.  It  is 
strange  how,  in  most  people,  we  can,  by  careful 
scrutiny,  detect  a  resemblance  to  the  lower  animals. 
One  man  irresistibly  reminds  us  of  a  dog ;  we  speak 
of  a  cat-like  woman  ;  a  starved  and  wizened  child 
may  be  the  image  of  a  monkey.  Emile  d'Herbois, 
as  we  have  seen — in  outward  appearance,  at  least — 
took  after  the  weasel  tribe,  Van  Hagen  had  the 
characteristics  of  a  fish,  but  Craspinat  was  something 
worse. 

This  creature,  which  seemed  scarcely  human,  so 
repulsive  was  it  in  body  and  mind,  so  horribly  shaped, 
so  grotesque  in  expression,  so  hideous  in  movement, 
suggested  nothing  so  much  as  a  huge  spider.  Not, 
indeed,  the  harmless  fly-sucker,  useful  and  diligent, 
with  his  graceful  web  and  cunningly  hidden  lair,  but 
rather  some  noxious  tarantula,  brown,  hairy  and 
poisonous,  an  insect  loathsome  and  repellent.  There 
had  been  a  blight  upon  it  from  its  birth.  It  was  a 
deformity  and  an  abortion  which  should  have  been 


CRASPINAT  145 

killed  as  soon  as  its  eyes  opened — as  soon  as  it  drew 
breath. 

It  is  not  easy  to  portray  Craspinat.  Imagine  a 
form  in  man's  clothing  with  legs  which  could  meet  at 
the  ankles,  and  not  again  till  they  reached  the  trunk, 
short,  thick-set  limbs,  each  describing  a  curve  like  the 
wood  of  a  strung  bow.  Picture,  further,  a  body  as 
broad  as  it  was  long,  and  strangely  bent  to  one  side 
and  upon  itself,  skinny  arms  reaching  to  the  knees 
when  allowed  to  hang  downwards,  and  covered  with 
a  downy,  reddish  hair,  shoulders  hunched  and  angular, 
and  then  a  head.  From  the  front  there  was  no  neck 
to  be  seen.  The  chin  rested  constantly  upon  the 
chest.  It  could  move  slightly  from  side  to  side,  but 
not  up  and  down.  The  reason  is  simple.  The 
muscles  at  the  back  of  the  neck — for  a  neck  there 
was — had  been  severed,  and  had  not  properly  united  ; 
further,  the  vertebrae  had  been  injured.  Those  who 
knew  Craspinat  knew  the  cause.  La  guillotine, 
they  whispered,  had  been  blunt  one  day,  now  long, 
long  ago. 

But  one  forgot  the  legs  and  even  the  body  when  one 
viewed  the  face  of  this  monstrosity.  And  yet  there 
was  not  much  face  to  be  seen.  The  hair  of  the  head 
shaded  it  down  to  the  eyes,  which  men  said  were 
green,  like  those  of  a  cat  in  the  dark.  The  hair  which 
grew  upon  it  shaded  it  elsewhere,  save  for  two  patches 
of  reddish  skin  on  either  side  of  a  protuberant  nose, 
and  a  prehensile  upper  lip,  from  below  which  pro- 
truded one  solitary  fang,  both  long  and  yellow.  But 
there  was  something  unwholesome  about  this  beard, 
as  about  everything  else  connected  with  Craspinat 
It  was  weak  and,  though  plentifully  distributed,  grew 
sparsely ;  there  was  a  lack  of  firmness  and  cohesion 
about  it ;  it  recalled  the  feathers  of  a  moulting  fowl. 
Such  was  Craspinat,  whom  Carlo  Massoni  had  recom- 
mended to  his  friend  Emile  d'Herbois. 

It  may  perhaps  be  supposed  that  his  choice  was  a 
bad  one,  that  such  a  creature  was  no  fit  companion 
10 


146         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

for  any  man,  that  its  brain  must  be  on  a  par  with  the 
organism  it  ruled ;  but  this  was  not  the  case.  Cras- 
pinat  was  stunted  in  body,  but  not  in  mind,  unless  a 
low  morality  is  taken  as  evidence  of  such  a  process. 
That  mind  was  useful,  not  to  its  owner  only,  for 
Craspinat  was  an  intelligence  department.  There 
was  no  spot  in  Paris,  however  obscure,  which  Craspinat 
did  not  know.  Those  who  had  dealings  with  this 
extraordinary  being  said  : 

'  He  himself  lives  in  the  best-hidden  corner  of  the 
city  ;  it  is,  therefore,  natural  he  should  have  learned 
its  mysterious  quarters,  for  he  must  have  visited  them 
all  ere  he  fixed  on  his  cellar.' 

The  conclusion  was  certainly  legitimate. 

The  police  were  fools  to  Craspinat,  and  of  this  they 
were  aware.  When,  therefore,  they  were  baffled, 
they  said  :  '  Let  us  apply  to  the  ogre ' ;  and  it  was 
rarely  they  applied  in  vain.  They  were  suspicious  of 
their  frequent  informant,  but,  as  Savary  once  re- 
marked :  '  He  is  invaluable,  and  the  end  justifies  the 
means.'  It  is  the  creed  of  the  Jesuit,  but  it  was  true 
of  Craspinat. 

There  was  probably  only  one  man  in  Paris  who  was 
thoroughly  conversant  with  Craspinat's  history,  and 
that  man  was  Carlo  Massoni.  Many  had  known  it 
in  earlier  days,  but  these  had  been  days  of  very 
rapid  change.  The  death-rate  was  high  in  Paris 
when  Craspinat  was  middle-aged  and  Massoni  was 
young. 

The  Corsican  had  prevented  the  knife  shearing 
completely  through  that  neck  which  had  once  been 
straight  and  supple  enough,  and  this  was  the  chief  tie 
which  bound  the  two  together,  for  Craspinat  was  not 
destitute  of  affection. 

The  chief  tie,  we  have  said,  and  with  reason,  for 
there  were  others.  This  weird  mortal's  business 
in  life  was  believed  to  be  that  of  a  detective,  but 
although  skilled  in  disguises,  fertile  in  suggestions, 
and  sought  after  by  many  clients,  both  rich  and 


poor,  although  consulted  about  all  things,  from 
such  a  trivial  matter  as  a  lost  child  to  such  a  grave 
question  as  the  spiriting  away  of  a  bag  of  gold ; 
this  was  not  so.  These  were  Craspinat's  amuse- 
ments ;  the  business  of  this  blighted  life  was  the 
study  of  explosives.  Hence  was  Carlo  Massoni 
interested. 

There  could  be  no  doubt,  they  said,  that  Graspinat 
was  mad,  but  it  was  a  madness  with  a  method  in  it. 
It  was  said,  '  He  is  rich — fabulous  sums  have  been 
paid  to  him ' ;  but  this  was  an  error — in  part,  at 
least.  All  that  Craspinat  made  by  amusements  was 
spent  upon  this  strange  hobby.  That  is  why  Carlo 
Massoni  spoke  of '  my  bomb-maker.' 

At  the  time  with  which  we  deal  Craspinat  was  ill. 
Carlo  Massoni  had  said  : 

'  You  need  good  food  ;  you  need  light  and  air ;  you 
are  not  healthy,  and  no  wonder,  living  in  such  a  den. 
You  have  established  such  a  system  that  it  is  not 
necessary  for  you  to  stay  here  longer,  and  in  any  case 
folks  are  now  so  poor,  thanks  to  Napoleon,  that  it 
does  not  pay  you,  and  you  are  in  danger,  for  you 
know  too  much.  They  will  send  and  kill  you  some 
fine  night.  Be  guided  by  me,  and  I  will  find  you  a 
home  where  you  will  be  safe.' 

To  this  Craspinat  agreed. 

Emile  d'Herbois'  house  was  a  little  like  himself. 
It  was,  so  to  speak,  in  touch  with  the  world,  but 
retired  from  it.  It  stood  in  a  lane  which  ran  off  the 
old  Rue  de  Gramont,  close  to  the  river,  in  a  deserted 
neighbourhood,  and  yet  not  a  hundred  miles  from  the 
Place  Bastille  and  the  busy  streets  which  lead  from 
and  to  that  spot  of  ghastly  memories. 

Here  Craspinat  found  an  asylum,  though  M.  d'Her- 
bois had  at  first  been  horrified  at  the  very  idea  of 
harbouring  such  a  '  parody  of  a  human  being,'  for 
this  was  the  expression  he  used  to  describe  his 
visitor. 

But  Massoni  had  over-persuaded  him,  had  begged 

IO — 2 


148         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

that  a  trial  might  be  given,  and  Emile  d'Herbois  had 
a  soft  heart.  Suffering  in  any  form  appealed  to  him, 
hence  his  failure  as  a  Jacobin  ;  and  so  at  last  against 
his  better  judgment  he  consented,  and  assigned  Cras- 
pinat — there  was  no  other  name — a  room  in  the  base- 
ment and  at  the  back  of  the  house. 

He  was  forced  to  confess  that  Massoni  had  not  lied 
to  him.  Information  formerly  difficult,  nay,  impossible 
to  obtain  was  now  so  no  longer.  There  was  no 
trouble,  no  fuss.  His  old  servant,  who  had  been  in  a 
frenzy  when  she  saw  the  new  occupant,  became 
speedily  reconciled.  '  He  would  scare  the  bravest 
burglar  that  ever  walked/  she  said. 

The  Corsican  had  been  careful  not  to  mention  the 
true  nature  of  Craspinat's  pursuits.  He  had  merely 
spoken  vaguely  of  a  love  for  chemistry,  and  had 
tapped  his  forehead  significantly. 

So  Craspinat  was  left  to  work  in  peace. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE  MYSTERY. 

MASSONI,  after  arranging  everything  to  his 
satisfaction,  departed  for  his  native  island, 
there  to  carry  out  his  intentions  regarding 
the  man  called  Jules  Gironde,  who  had  presumed  to 
thwart  his  plans.  If  during  his  journey  he  had  been 
able  to  look  into  his  friend's  house  in  the  Rue  de 
Gramont,  he  would  have  been  both  surprised  and 
annoyed,  for  it  soon  contained  others  besides 
D'Herbois,  his  servant,  and  the  creature  which 
resided  in  the  basement,  and  never  left  it,  at  least 
by  day. 

These  fresh  arrivals  were  a  young  girl  of  un- 
common beauty,  dressed  in  a  fashion  long  defunct, 
and  an  old  man,  who  seemed  fond  of  bright  colours, 
to  judge  from  his  garments. 


THE  MYSTERY  149 

It  was  a  strange  story  that  was  told  Emile 
d'Herbois  by  his  niece,  who  with  this  Monsieur 
Deschamps  had  arrived  before  the  letter  which  she 
asserted  had  been  sent  him,  but  which  was  never 
delivered.  There  was  nothing  in  her  uncle's  manner 
to  lead  Kate  Ingleby  to  suppose  that  she  was  not 
welcome.  Emile  d'Herbois  saw  his  schemes  again 
frustrated,  but  he  did  not  dream  of  renouncing  the 
charge  given  him  by  his  dying  sister,  neither  did 
he  think  of  using  the  friendless  girl's  fortune  to 
further  his  ambition. 

'  Let  her  come  of  age  and  judge  for  herself,'  he 
said.  '  I  will  instil  those  principles  which  have 
guided  my  life,  and  if  she  approves  them,  good  and 
well,  if  not ' 

He  sighed  deeply,  and  quickened  his  already  hasty 
walk.  No  man  had  ever  accused  Emile  d'Herbois 
of  doing  anything  dishonourable.  That  is  why  none 
guessed  whither  Craspinat  had  gone,  for  the  Jacobin's 
servant  implicitly  obeyed  her  master,  and  he  had 
enforced  secrecy  on  this  point. 

He  listened  with  amazement  to  Kate  Ingleby 's 
account  of  the  adventures  which  had  befallen  her, 
and  looked  askance  on  poor  Charles  Deschamps. 
He  pitied  the  man,  but  he  loathed  the  aristocrat 

'  And  so,'  said  the  girl,  continuing  her  tale, '  I  could 
not  help  suspecting  Geoffrey  Darroch.  Monsieur 
Deschamps  here  would  tell  me  nothing,  but  hinted  at 
something  he  had  seen,  and  as  the  day  wore  on,  I 
grew  very  frightened  and  uncomfortable.  There  was 
no  sign  of  Monsieur  Neil,  and  his  brother  went  out 
and  did  not  return  till  late,  when  he  said  he  feared 
the  smugglers  had  carried  him  off.' 

She  stopped,  and  he  saw  there  were  tears  in  her 
eyes. 

'  Poor  Noel,  poor  Noel !  he  was  a  good  lad,'  muttered 
the  old  Frenchman.  '  Your  pardon,  sir,'  he  added, 
as  if  ashamed  of  his  grief  before  a  stranger. 

Emile  d'Herbois  nodded  and  proffered  his  snuff- 


150         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

box,  but  the  other  took  no  notice.  He  was  absorbed 
in  his  own  wandering  thoughts. 

'  Then,  uncle  ' — she  said  the  word  as  if  not  used  to 
it — '  I  did  a  stupid  thing,  and  let  him  see  what  was 
in  my  mind.  Ah !  but  he  must  have  been  guilty ; 
you  should  have  seen  his  passion  !  Till  then  I  had 
thought  him  a  stupid  man,  though  kind,  but  my  eyes 
were  opened.  I  answered  him  back  for  a  little' — 
she  smiled  bravely  as  she  spoke — '  but  then  I  saw  he 
was  drunk,  and  I  was  afraid,  and  locked  myself  into 
my  room,  and  he  stood  outside  and  tried  to  force  the 
door,  and  swore  he  would  kill  me.' 

'  And  then  ?'  said  her  uncle.  '  Go  on,  Catherine ; 
you  interest  me.' 

4  Then  he ' — she  glanced  at  her  companion — '  came 
to  the  rescue.  I  heard  them  having  high  words. 
I  know  that  Monsieur  Darroch  struck  Monsieur 
Deschamps,  and' — she  lowered  her  voice — 'he 
cannot  stand  a  blow  or  a  harsh  word.' 

'  He  shall  have  neither  here,'  said  Emile  d'Herbois 
decisively.  '  Accept  my  thanks  for  the  protection 
you  afforded  my  niece/  he  added,  turning  to 
Monsieur  Charles. 

The  latter  roused  himself,  and  once  more  his  old 
cheery  smile  played  amongst  the  wrinkles  on  his  face. 
He  waved  his  hand  with  the  grand  air. 

'  No  thanks  are  due,'  he  said  ;  '  to  be  in  mademoi- 
selle's company  is  sufficient  pleasure.1  His  dark  eyes, 
which  had  a  weary  look  in  them,  rested  lovingly  on 
the  bright  young  face  at  his  side.  Where  had  he 
seen  one  like  it  ?  he  asked  himself,  as  he  had  so  often 
done,  but  with  the  same  result.  The  past  was  still  a 
blank  to  Monsieur  Deschamps. 

1  What  you  say  is  highly  gratifying  to  me,'  said 
Uncle  Emile ;  '  but,  Catherine,  I  am  anxious  to  learn 
how  you  escaped  from  this  Scottish  castle  and  the 
villain — for  such  he  seems  to  be — who  owns  it.' 

*  There  is  not  much  to  tell,'  answered  Kate.  '  I 
did  not  sleep  all  that  terrible  night,  but  in  the  morn- 


THE  MYSTERY  151 

ing  my  old  friend  came  and  told  me  that  Monsieur 
Darroch  was  dead  drunk,  and  could  do  no  harm. 
Then  when  I  had  found  this  was  true,  the  housekeeper 
took  me  to  see  a  man  who  was  in  the  kitchen.  I 
have  never  encountered  anyone  so  strange,  so  pic- 
turesque. He  was — how  am  I  to  explain  ? — the 
musician  to  the  wild  smugglers,  and  he  was  very  old, 
but  still  strong  and  vigorous.  His  beard  was  long, 
and  very  white,  but  it  was  his  eyes  which  fascinated 
me.  They  were  deep-set  in  his  head,  and  glowed  as 
if  candles  were  placed  behind  them,  while  his  brows 
were  shaggy  and  frowning.  He  had,  so  Teeny  told 
me,  what  they  call  the  second  sight ;  he  was  a  prophet 
indeed,  but  for  all  that  he  could  speak  no  English,  at 
least  that  I  could  understand.' 

Emile  d'Herbois  smiled,  and  dabbed  at  his  snuff. 

'  You  are  laughing/  said  Kate  gravely,  '  but  you 
would  not  have  laughed  had  you  heard  him.  He  got 
up  and  made  me  an  oration,  and  waved  his  arms,  and 
shook  his  fist,  and  groaned,  and  even  wept  It  is  not 
nice  to  see  an  old  man  weep.  When  he  had  finished 
and  gone  away,  the  housekeeper  told  me  that  all  the 
other  smugglers  had  left  the  Black  Glen,  but  he  had 
refused  to  quit  it.  He  had  come  to  the  house  to  ask 
Monsieur  Neil  if  he  might  stay  there,  but  when  he 
found  what  had  happened  he  had  flown  into  a  terrible 
rage,  and  spoken  of  some  ship  or  other,  and  vowed 
vengeance,  and  warned  me  to  fly  with  Monsieur 
Deschamps.  Teeny  advised  me  to  do  as  he  said,  and 
we  went  away  that  very  day  to  a  little  town  called 
Portroy,  where  she  remained  behind  while  we  sailed 
to  Glasgow ;  but  first  I  left  a  note  in  case  Monsieur 
Neil  should  return,  yet  I  fear  he  must  be  dead/ 
Her  voice  sank  to  a  whisper  which  had  a  tremor 
in  it. 

'  No,  no/  said  Charles  Deschamps  suddenly  ;  '  he  is 
not  dead,  not  dead.' 

1  Ah !  that  is  what  he  always  says,  but  he  knows 
nothing  for  certain.' 


152          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

'  Indeed !'  said  her  uncle ;  *  but  you  would  need 
money  to  travel,  and  you  had  none.' 

'Yes,  but  Monsieur  Deschamps  had,  and  how  do 
you  think  he  made  most  of  it  ?  It  is  odd,  but  pitiful. 
All  the  years  he  was  there  he  used  to  tell  the  fisher 
children  stories,  and  their  mothers  would  give  him 
sous — pennies  they  call  them.  He  had  put  them 
aside,  and  was  saving  them  till  he  had  enough  to 
carry  him  home  to  Paris.' 

'  And  had  he  ?' 

*  No,  not  even  half ;  but  Teeny,  who  was  a  good 
woman,  lent  me  the  rest.  I  promised  you  would  pay 
her  for  me.' 

'  It  shall  be  done,'  said  Emile  d'Herbois.  '  And 
did  the  man  follow  you  ?' 

'  I  know  no  more,'  said  she.  '  We  were  just  in  time 
to  sail.  I  thought  it  the  best  thing  to  do,  but  I  have 
often  wondered  what  happened.' 

What  had  happened  was  that  Geoffrey  Darroch 
wakened  from  a  two  days'  orgie  to  find  himself  in  a 
burning  house,  and  was  only  saved  by  his  knowledge 
of  the  passage  which  led  to  the  Cowrie  caves. 

A  body,  indeed,  they  found  among  the  ruins,  but  it 
was  not  his.  Once  more,  and  once  only,  shall  we  meet 
with  him  again.  Suffice  it  to  say  that,  ruined  in 
pocket,  consumed  by  remorse,  haunted  by  visions  of 
the  gallows  and  what  he  had  lost,  Geoffrey  Darroch 
proved  to  the  hilt  the  truth  of  that  grim  passage, 
4  The  way  of  transgressors  is  hard.' 

Now  began  as  pleasant  a  time  as  Emile  d'Herbois 
had  ever  known  in  his  life,  and  that  although  he  had 
relinquished  for  the  present  his  great  scheme  of  re- 
establishing a  republic  on  a  new  basis.  He  had 
always  been  a  solitary  man,  and  this  niece  of  his  was 
a  revelation  to  him.  He  would  check  his  hurried, 
restless  movements,  and  listen  to  her  with  a  smile  on 
his  thin  lips.  He  perceived  with  pleasure  that  she 
had  an  ample  share  of  sound  common-sense,  a  virtue 
he  believed  that  he  himself  possessed  in  no  small 


THE  MYSTERY  153 

measure,  whereas  in  reality  he  was  very  much  of  a 
dreamer  and  an  enthusiast.  He  had  asked  why  she 
did  not  inform  the  authorities  as  to  Neil  Darroch's  dis- 
appearance, and  he  noted  her  reply  with  satisfaction. 

'What  good  would  it  have  done  ?'  she  said.  '  I 
had  no  proofs,  no  witnesses,  and  they  might  have 
detained  me  till  his  brother  came,  and  then  I  would 
have  been  lost.  A  woman,  you  know,  has  not 
much  chance  with  a  man  if  she  is  a  stranger  and  a 
foreigner.' 

'  True,'  he  answered  ;  '  and  now  tell  me  of  your 
journey  here.' 

Her  account  always  delighted  him.  She  had  used 
her  eyes  to  good  purpose,  and  as  he  had  been  in 
England  he  could  appreciate  her  descriptions  of  the 
coach-roads  and  the  people  she  had  met. 

Above  all,  she  made  him  comfortable.  Much  of 
his  apparent  energy  was  wasted ;  he  was  absent- 
minded,  and  in  a  very  short  time  she  took  charge 
of  his  domestic  arrangements,  went  to  the  market, 
accompanied  by  Monsieur  Deschamps,  and  brought 
him  all  the  news,  along  with  dainty  tit-bits,  much  to 
his  liking,  for  Emile  d'Herbois  was  a  good  Parisian 
in  that  he  enjoyed  a  rechercht  dinner.  He  was 
gratified  to  find  her  a  little  republican  already. 

1  Kings  are  either  wicked  and  tyrants,  or  weak  and 
useless,  and  they  are  a  great  expense,'  was  her 
dictum. 

It  was  not  long  before  she  found  out  his  secret, 
and  embarrassed  him  by  putting  half  her  fortune 
(she  was  too  good  an  American  to  offer  the  whole) 
at  his  disposal. 

'  You  are  a  good  child,'  he  said  ;  'but  there  is  no 
hurry.  Wait  till  you  have  seen  more,  and  are  of 
age;  then  we  shall  see.  There  is  plenty  of  time 
yet.  I  am  not  an  old  man.' 

Unfortunately,  he  forgot  Craspinat  That  strange 
mortal  was  invisible.  Kate  Ingleby  did  not  know 
there  was  such  a  being  in  the  house. 


154         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

Nowadays  we  hear  of  curious  photographs,  which 
show  that  spirits,  good  and  evil,  hover  near  us. 
The  dead  mother  guards  her  sleeping  child,  some 
emissary  of  the  devil  sits  at  the  gambler's  elbow, 
and  no  one  ever  guesses  it 

Craspinat,  for  all  that  the  new-comers  in  Emile 
d'Herbois1  house  saw  or  heard,  might  have  been  one 
of  these.  But  Craspinat  knew  all  that  was  occurring, 
and  knew  what  the  girl's  arrival  signified. 

'There  is  plenty  of  time,'  was  Emile  d'Herbois' 
motto.  It  was  also  Craspinat's. 

As  may  be  imagined,  Kate's  new  life  was  very 
much  to  her  liking.  Everything  was  novel  and 
interesting,  and  she  had  no  desire  to  play  the  grand 
lady.  Her  uncle  was,  as  he  well  might  be,  indulgent, 
but  her  tastes  were  simple.  She  seemed  perfectly 
happy,  yet  once  or  twice  Emile  d'Herbois  got  a 
glimpse  of  what  he  had  surmised.  She  had  not  for- 
gotten Neil  Darroch. 

'  He  may  be  living,'  she  said  wistfully,  '  and  what 
if  he  should  come  here  ?' 

'  Impossible/  said  her  uncle. 

'  Why  ?'  she  asked.  '  If  he  were  really  carried  off 
by  the  smugglers,  it  is  quite  likely.  Their  trade  I 
know — for  so  he  told  me — was  partly  with  France 
and  Holland,  and  he  might  escape  and  come  here.' 

'  And  why  here  ?' 

She  reddened  ever  so  little,  but  he  read  the  danger- 
signal. 

'  Well,  do  you  not  see  that  as  he  wrote  you,  even 
though  the  letter  has  never  come,  he  must  know 
where  you  live ;  he  would  want  help,  and  he  might 
think,  you  see ' 

'  I  see,'  said  Emile  d'Herbois,  and  Kate  hid  her 
confusion — and  her  tears,  if  truth  be  told — by  running 
off  to  greet  Monsieur  Charles,  who  happened  to  enter 
the  room  just  at  that  critical  moment. 

Emile  d'Herbois  had  a  soft  heart,  as  we  have  said, 
and  he  felt  sorry  for  the  lass  ;  but  she  was  apparently 


THE  MYSTERY  155 

not  smitten  too  deeply,  and  so,  as  was  his  custom, 
he  put  his  trust  in  time.  He  had  done  so  all  his 
life,  and  the  result  was  he  had  accomplished  nothing. 
Time  is  not  to  be  trusted  ;  he  is  to  be  taken  by  the 
forelock. 

To  one,  however,  time  meant  nothing,  and  that 
one  was  Monsieur  Deschamps.  He  speedily  forgot 
Neil  in  the  excitement  of  being  again  in  the  city  of 
his  youth,  and  yet  he  was  bewildered.  Since  he  had 
quitted  it,  Paris  was  indeed  changed.  Over  four 
millions  in  English  money  had  Napoleon  expended 
on  his  capital,  and  even  poor  Monsieur  Charles 
could  trace  his  handiwork.  He  would  accompany 
Kate  here  and  there,  and  stand  sucking  at  the  silver 
top  of  a  cane  she  had  bought  him  as  a  plaything 
the  while  he  gazed  disconsolately  about  him.  He 
said  little,  but  it  was  clear  that  his  feeble  brain 
was  questioning,  ever  questioning,  and  yet  never 
answering,  or  even  voicing  its  own  confused  inquiries. 
But  he  was  brightening  up.  He  no  longer  shuffled 
and  was  untidy  in  his  dress.  The  sudden  alteration 
in  his  surroundings  had  done  him  good,  and  Kate 
Ingleby  was  delighted. 

'  Oh,  if  he  could  only  be  cured,'  she  thought,  '  and 
then  if  Neil — Mr.  Darroch,  I  mean — could  see  him !' 

Such  fleeting  ideas  ended  in  a  sigh  and  additional 
kindness  to  the  old  Frenchman,  her  sole  link  with  the 
past. 

Monsieur  would  never  have  recovered,  but  he  might 
have  improved  even  more,  and  in  good  time  got  rid 
of  his  despondent  fits  and  many  of  his  childish  ways, 
but  for  an  event  which  befell  some  months  after  he 
had  again  made  acquaintance  with  the  streets  he  had 
paced  before  madness  fastened  upon  both  his  country 
and  himself. 

There  was  a  garden  attached  to  Emile  d'Herbois* 
old  house,  a  pleasant  enough  spot  which  had  lain 
fallow  till  Kate  Ingleby  took  it  in  hand  and  planted 
bulbs  and  tended  drooping  shrubs. 


156         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

Here  it  was  that  when  the  demon  of  unrest  forced 
him  out  of  doors  with  the  first  streak  of  light, 
Monsieur  Charles  would  wander  up  and  down,  cane 
in  hand,  talking  to  himself  and  the  sparrows.  A  high 
wall  surrounded  it,  and  close  to  one  angle  was  a  little 
door  which  gave  access  to  a  dismal  lane  that  led  to 
the  river. 

The  old  man  had  been  promenading  briskly  in  his 
shirt  and  small  clothes — for  he  was  not  susceptible  to 
cold — when  he  heard  a  sound  which  attracted  his 
attention.  He  was  near  the  house,  behind  a  large 
bush  which  concealed  the  greater  portion  of  the 
garden  from  his  view.  Always  inclined  to  be  suspi- 
cious, he  kept  himself  concealed,  and  half-play  fully 
peered  round  the  ragged  edge  of  his  hiding-place. 

He  was  not  the  only  occupant  of  the  garden.  A 
figure  was  closing  the  little  door  in  the  wall — the 
figure  of  a  man  whose  back  was  towards  him,  but 
such  a  figure ! 

Squat  and  bent  like  a  hobgoblin,  with  shaggy  head 
and  distorted  legs,  it  was  working  at  the  lock.  Its 
shape  was  enough  to  scare  anyone,  so  out  of  place 
was  it  in  the  stillness  of  a  fresh  summer's  morn  ;  but 
its  effect  on  Monsieur  Deschamps  was  extraordinary. 

Great  beads  of  sweat  burst  out  upon  the  skin  of  his 
forehead,  his  gentle  eyes  seemed  as  if  they  would  start 
from  their  sockets,  and  in  them  was  a  look  which 
had  long  been  absent  from  them — a  look  of  remem- 
brance and  recognition.  His  lips  trembled,  his  very 
body  shook  as  though  smitten  by  the  palsy ;  the  cane, 
his  newest  and  dearest  possession,  dropped  unheeded 
on  the  grass,  and  then  he  became  petrified,  rigid, 
motionless,  and  his  expression  changed.  He  was 
waiting  to  see  the  face. 

But  who  shall  say  what  memories  were  struggling 
to  life  in  his  enfeebled  nerve-cells — memories  of  a 
fearful  day  of  misery  and  slaughter,  of  ruthless 
massacre  and  outrage,  when  in  the  court  of  the 
Abbaye  a  howling  mob  had  danced  and  yelled  like 


THE  MYSTERY  157 

heathen  cannibals,  and  glutted  their  ferocity  in  the 
best  blood  of  France  ?  Did  he  know  now  of  whom 
mademoiselle  reminded  him  ?  The  fair  young  face  of 
his  betrothed,  which  he  had  last  seen — God  help  him  ! 
— borne  upon  a  pike,  borne  high  upon  a  pike,  and 
by  whom  ? 

Yes,  there  could  be  no  doubt;  the  dress  was 
different,  but  the  figure  was  the  same;  the  twisted 
figure,  and  not  only  the  figure,  but  its  visage,  the 
ghoulish,  hairy  visage  of  Craspinat. 

With  a  scream,  a  choking  scream  like  that  of  a 
child  which  in  the  dark  throws  out  a  hand  and 
touches  the  fur  of  a  cat  seated  on  its  chest — with 
such  a  scream  of  the  most  intense  horror,  the  most 
abject  terror,  Charles  Deschamps  spun  round,  fell  on 
his  hands  and  knees  and  crawled  into  the  house, 
gibbering  and  raving — ay,  and  laughing,  as  the  souls 
may  laugh  in  hell. 

Monsieur  Deschamps  did  not  make  his  usual 
appearance  with  the  rolls  and  coffee  that  morning. 
When  Kate  Ingleby  went  in  search  of  him,  what  she 
found  crouching  in  a  dark  closet  was  not  the  Charles 
Deschamps  she  had  known. 

Hastily,  in  great  fear,  with  a  sinking  heart,  and  all 
the  brightness  gone  from  her  face,  she  summoned 
Emile  d'Herbois,  and  he  summoned  his  physician. 
That  kindly  man  made  a  few  inquiries,  and  shook 
his  head. 

'  He  has  had  a  fright,'  he  said.  '  Should  he  become 
violent  he  must  be  put  under  restraint,  but  I  do  not 
think  it  will  be  necessary.  Get  him  to  bed  in  a 
darkened  room,  keep  him  absolutely  quiet,  and  I 
will  come  again.' 

He  came,  and  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  his  patient 
had  not  a  vestige  of  reason  left,  that  he  might  live 
for  quite  a  lengthened  period,  but  would  get  no  better 
— he  could  scarcely  become  worse. 

'  And  how  can  it  have  happened  ?'  sobbed  the  girl. 
'  Who  could  have  terrified  him  ?' 


158         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

Emile  d'Herbois  guessed,  but  shook  his  head. 

The  affair  roused  him,  however.  He  resolved  to  go 
and  question  this  Craspinat. 

Since  Massoni  left  he  had  scarcely  seen  the  creature 
he  had  taken  in  out  of  charity  and  to  serve  his  own 
ends.  He  had  preferred  to  communicate  his  wishes 
by  writing  and  receive  written  or  rather  scrawled 
reports.  The  reason  is  simple :  he  was  afraid. 

There  was  something  so  silent  and  mysterious  in 
this  dependent  of  his,  that  Emile  d'Herbois  avoided 
the  basement.  He  told  himself  there  was  no  need 
for  him  to  go  there,  and  it  was  in  a  manner  true. 
His  servant  never  complained,  there  had  been  no 
disturbance  of  any  kind.  But  now  he  felt  it  his  duty 
to  find  out  if  Craspinat  had  been  up  to  any  tricks, 
though  he  believed  the  old  Frenchman  had  lost  the 
remainder  of  his  wits  merely  on  account  of  the 
grotesque  hideousness  of  a  face  which  he  had 
probably  seen  by  chance. 

Still,  it  is  significant  that  when  D'Herbois  de- 
scended to  the  basement,  he  carried  a  stout  cudgel 
in  his  hand,  and  had  a  loaded  pistol  in  his  pocket. 

The  door  of  Craspinat's  room  was  locked.  Mon- 
sieur d'Herbois  knocked  loudly  upon  it.  A  man 
often  makes  most  noise  when  he  is  timid.  Craspinat 
was  probably  aware  of  this,  for  the  face  which  greeted 
d'Herbois  when  the  door  opened  had  a  leer  upon 
it. 

'  I  wished  to  see  you,'  said  Emile  d'Herbois. 

'  And  I  am  here,'  was  the  reply,  in  a  thin,  shrill 
voice,  which  affected  D'Herbois  unpleasantly. 

The  figure  before  him  made  no  sign  of  moving  out 
of  the  way,  and  so  he  pushed  quickly  past  it 

He  was  sufficiently  surprised  by  what  he  saw. 
Barrels  and  cases  were  ranged  against  the  walls, 
curious  vessels  and  pieces  of  metal  littered  a  table,  a 
charcoal  fire  burnt  on  a  stone  slab,  and  its  fumes  were 
conducted  by  a  pipe  through  one  of  the  window- 
panes. 


THE  MYSTERY  159 

'You  have  a  fine  mess  here,'  he  said  angrily. 
'  What  are  you  doing  ?' 

There  was  no  answer. 

Somehow  or  other  he  did  not  feel  inclined  to  repeat 
the  question  just  then. 

'  Do  you  know  anything  of  what  happened  yester- 
day ?'  he  asked. 

'  I  have  heard  the  old  man  is  madder  than  he  was/ 
whined  the  creature  before  him  ;  '  but  I  am  not  to 
blame.  I  did  not  make  myself,  good  sir.' 

'  Then  you  have  been  playing  no  tricks  ?'  he  de- 
manded. 

'  Tricks  ?  No,  no.  I  have  served  you  well  in 
everything,  have  I  not  ?' 

'  That  is  true,  but  I  think  I  can  dispense  with  you 
now.  You  are  strong  again,  and  so  had  better  go.  I 
will  pay  you  for  the  trouble  you  have  taken.' 

'  But  the  Signer  Massoni  said  I  was  to  stay  till  he 
returned.' 

'  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  what  he  said.  This  is 
my  house,  and  I  shall  have  in  it  whom  I  please.' 

He  stopped.  Was  it  possible  that  the  thing  was 
laughing  at  him  ?  Emile  d'Herbois  began  to  grow 
angry. 

'  What  is  this  ?'  he  asked,  and  gathered  a  black 
powder  from  a  barrel.  He  dropped  it  quickly. 

'  Confound  you  !'  he  cried.  '  What  devil's  business 
are  you  at  here  ?  Would  you  blow  us  all  up  ?  Out 
you  bundle,  and  all  your  stuff  along  with  you  !' 

'  No,  no !'  cried  the  creature  shrilly  — '  no  no, 
Monsieur  d'Herbois  !  I  am  here  and  I  shall  stay.' 

'  But  I  say  you  shall  go  !'  repeated  D'Herbois.  '  If 
the  police  knew  of  this ' 

'  They  would  do  nothing,'  said  Craspinat,  with  a 
dry  cackle. 

4  Then,  I  will !'  shouted  the  other,  raising  his  stick. 
1  Go  before  I  thrash  you,  miserable  wretch  though 
you  are.' 

'Ha,  ha!'  screamed  the  figure  before  him,  com- 


160  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

mencing  to  dance  and  hop  upon  the  floor,  and 
snapping  its  fingers  in  his  face.  '  You  dare  not  touch 
me!' 

'  Dare  not  1  And  why  not,  pray  ?'  stammered 
D'Herbois,  amazed  at  the  audacity  of  this  deformed 
being. 

'  That  is  why — one  reason  why !'  it  shrilled,  raising 
a  long  arm  and  plucking  off  first  a  wig  and  then  the 
shaggy  straggling  hairs  which  covered  its  face. 

Emile  d'Herbois  staggered  back,  speechless  with 
surprise,  and  gazed  at  a  countenance  which,  though 
the  prey  of  some  loathsome  disease,  was  yet  dis- 
tinctive. 

Craspinat  was  a  woman  i 


BOOK  III. 

REVENGE 
CHAPTER  I. 

FROM   PERIL  TO  PERIL 

TO-DAY  Elba  is  deserted.    Cook's  tours,  like 
the  Levite,  pass  by  on  the  other  side — the 
other  side  of  the  Straits  of  Piombino,  which 
separate  it  from  the  coast  of  Tuscany.     It  lies  out  of 
the  track  of  the  globe-trotter,  it  is  unknown  and  un- 
visited  save  by  a  passing  yacht  and  a  few  Napoleonic 
enthusiasts.     And  yet  there  is,  perhaps,  no  finer  bay 
in  Europe  than  that  of  Porto  Ferrajo.     In  the  straits 
lie  the  islets  of  Palmajola  and  Cerboli,  topped  by  fair 
white  buildings ;  and  as  one  rounds  the  green  Capo 
della  Vita,  a  vista  of  majestic  beauty  is  disclosed. 
In  front  lies  a  great  stretch  of  water  on  which  a  navy 
might  ride.     To  the  left  tower  mighty  hills,  shooting 
sheer  upwards  from  the  green  sea,  veined  by  the  red, 
iron-bearing  rocks,  and  narrowing  to  ragged  peaks 
and  ridges.     From  the  face  of  one  curving  hill  a  vast 
pinnacle  rises  clear  against  the  blue  sky,  a  pinnacle 
crowned   by  an   ancient  temple  to  almighty  Jove. 
Beyond,  the  mountains  recede  from   the  bay  and 
sweep  round  the  valley  land  in  a  great  semicircle, 
finally  ending  in  a  low  promontory,  which  in  its  fold 
hides  the  little  town  whose  houses  rise  tier  upon  tier, 
ii 


162          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

white  and  yellow  and  red,  flanked  by  two  old  forts, 
guarded  by  a  crumbling  wall,  smelling  of  the  east, 
quaint,  irregular,  and  fascinating.  Gateways  and 
moats  still  exist,  narrow  lanes,  black  and  dismal  by 
night,  cool  and  shady  by  day,  run  here  and  there. 
The  town  seems  almost  to  overhang  the  still  waters  of 
the  bay,  so  that  one  looks  up  from  the  quay  at  terraces 
and  balconies,  and  roofs  overlapping  each  other  in 
a  fine  confusion.  A  pink  marl  coats  the  toy-like 
harbour  works,  which,  with  the  Bagno,  alone  show 
no  sign  of  decay.  Porto  Ferrajo  is  gloriously  sleepy, 
content  with  its  brief  forgotten  fame,  for  does  it  not 
hold  the  Villa  San  Martino,  where  dwelt  the  Emperor, 
at  once  its  prisoner  and  its  King  ?  Away  inland, 
towards  the  hill  range,  built  indeed  upon  its  lower 
slopes,  lies  his  palace,  with  its  long  avenue,  its  great 
gates  and  gilded  eagles,  its  roof  garden,  its  cool,  pure 
white  stone,  its  wonderful  prospect  of  sea  and  hill 
and  distant  town,  and  above  all,  its  air  of  melancholy. 
The  grim,  dark  wood  of  huge  conifers  in  whose  shade 
it  rests  is  more  in  keeping  with  its  history  than  its 
trim  garden,  gay  with  flowers  and  sweet  with  scents. 
The  vine-clad  spurs  mount  up  behind  it,  a  background 
sombre  and  fitting,  its  gallery  re-echoes  to  the  tread 
of  strangers,  it  is  full  of  relics,  relics  of  the  fallen 
great. 

But  when  the  Undaunted  lay  in  the  bay  of  Porto 
Ferrajo,  the  town  was  delirious  with  joy.  Its  in- 
habitants looked  forward  to  an  era  of  unexampled 
prosperity,  to  a  model  government,  to  wealth  and 
fame,  and  a  great  future.  They  were  to  be  bitterly 
disappointed.  There  were  f£tes  and  ceremonies,  but 
the  Emperor's  face  was  gloomy.  He  wearied  his 
attendants  by  a  restless  energy,  by  a  ceaseless  flow  of 
questions.  He  rose  at  unearthly  hours,  to  the  disgust 
of  the  members  of  his  suite,  and  yet  they  pitied  him. 
He  could  not  blot  out  the  past 

Louis  XVIII.  entered  Paris  on  the  very  day  that 
the  British  frigate  cast  anchor  in  the  roads. 


FROM  PERIL  TO  PERIL         163 

Of  all  this  bustle  Neil  Darroch,  as  we  have  said, 
knew  nothing.  He  came  to  his  senses  at  last,  weak 
and  wasted,  and  found  himself  in  a  hammock  close 
beside  an  open  port.  He  looked  out  and  was  filled 
with  pleasure.  He  feasted  his  eyes  upon  the  hills, 
about  the  tops  of  which  the  mists  clung,  casting  long 
shadows  on  the  barren  slopes. 

The  scenery  of  Elba  is  at  times  singularly  like  that 
of  the  Scottish  West  Coast.  Given  a  cloudy  day,  with 
gentle  rain,  the  mountains  might  be  those  of  Arran, 
save  that  they  are  scarcely  so  bluff  and  massive. 
They  spoke  of  home  to  Neil  Darroch,  and  with  the 
thought  of  home  came  the  thought  of  revenge.  He 
was  strangely  persistent.  Never  for  a  moment  had 
he  forgotten  the  debt  he  owed  his  step-brother.  He 
might  have  recognised  the  truth  of  that  solemn  text, 
'  Vengeance  is  Mine,  I  will  repay,  saith  the  Lord/  but 
his  warnings  had  been  futile,  his  heredity  had  been 
too  strong  for  him  ;  such  wrath  as  his  was  not  to  be 
easily  quelled. 

He  did  not  stay  long  on  the  Undaunted.  He 
learned  where  he  was,  and  found  that  it  would  be 
useless  for  him  to  try  to  get  anyone  to  believe  his 
strange  story. 

The  doctor,  as  the  ship's  surgeon  was  always  called 
in  those  days,  had  detected  the  long  white  weals  on 
his  back.  The  man  who  brought  him  his  meals 
hinted  at  them  and  winked  knowingly.  Neil  felt  the 
bitterness  of  shame.  He  resolved  to  escape  as  soon 
as  he  was  strong  enough.  The  Italian  coast  was  not 
far  off,  and  it  was  better  to  be  free  and  penniless,  he 
argued,  than  to  be  under  orders  and  suspected.  As 
soon  as  he  was  on  his  feet  and  beginning  to  gather 
strength  he  commenced  watching  for  an  oppor- 
tunity. 

At  last,  as  he  fondly  imagined,  fortune  favoured 
him.  One  of  the  small,  felucca-rigged  craft  employed 
in  the  sardine  fishery  anchored  for  the  night  about  a 
hundred  yards  from  the  frigate.  Neil  watched  her 

11—2 


164         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

crew  furl  the  sail,  put  things  ship-shape,  and  push  off 
for  the  shore  in  their  shallop.  He  had  borrowed  a 
stout  clasp-knife  from  one  of  the  sailors  wherewith 
to  whittle  wood  and  pass  the  time,  and  he  resolved  to 
test  it  on  the  rope  of  the  fishing-craft.  There  was 
plenty  of  wind ;  had  he  only  known  it,  there  was  too 
much. 

The  bay  of  Porto  Ferrajo  is  sheltered  from  every 
quarter  of  the  compass,  but  of  this  Neil  Darroch  was 
ignorant.  He  trusted  to  luck  to  find  food  and  water 
on  board.  In  any  case  the  voyage  would  be  short, 
though  he  had  decided  it  would  be  useless  to  hide 
himself  on  the  island.  The  theft  of  the  boat  did  not 
trouble  him.  A  desperate  man  does  not  stick  at 
trifles,  and  Neil  Darroch  was  scarcely  so  particular  as 
he  had  been. 

He  was  pleased  to  find  the  night  dark  and  cloudy, 
with  no  phosphorescence  in  the  water.  Somewhere 
in  the  small  hours  of  the  morning  he  paid  out  a  length 
of  cable  from  the  port,  made  it  fast,  and  slipped 
quietly  down  it.  The  frigate  was  in  harbour,  and  the 
watch  taking  things  easily.  They  never  heard  him. 
He  had  been  careful  to  locate  the  position  of  the 
boat,  and  swam  straight  for  it  So  exhausted  was  he 
that  he  had  to  hang  on  to  its  gunwale  for  a  time 
before  he  recovered  sufficiently  to  hoist  himself  on 
board.  Then  all  was  easy.  A  slash  with  the  knife 
freed  the  bow,  the  oars  were  handy,  and  very  slowly 
he  began  to  creep  seawards.  He  had  got  some  notion 
of  the  shape  of  the  bay  from  a  map  the  doctor  had 
lent  him,  and  even  in  the  darkness  it  was  not  difficult 
to  steer  a  course.  His  chief  danger  lay  in  passing 
other  vessels,  for  there  was  a  crowd  of  shipping  in  the 
roads.  He  was  hailed  more  than  once,  and  kept  silent 
or  answered  gruffly  in  French. 

In  a  very  short  time  he  was  skirting  the  sea-washed 
base  of  Monte  Grosso,  which  rose  on  his  right,  a  black 
precipitous  wall,  and  he  began  to  comprehend  the 
real  nature  of  his  undertaking.  An  easterly  gale  was 


FROM  PERIL  TO  PERIL        165 

sweeping  down  from  the  Apennines,  and  away  in 
front  of  him  he  could  hear  the  roar  of  the  breakers  as 
they  beat  on  the  Capo  della  Vita,  and  dashed  on  the 
little  isolated  rock  which  stands  like  a  sentinel  before 
it.  The  waves  were  swirling  round  it  like  white- 
plumed  cavalry  on  the  wheel,  and  as  they  ran  along 
the  western  side  of  the  promontory  his  boat  began  to 
dance  upon  them  and  to  ship  spray.  But  he  could 
not  turn  back.  He  pulled  off  shore,  and,  hoisting 
sail,  scudded  out  into  the  waste  of  waters.  He  sped 
along  with  a  mere  rag  of  canvas  showing  till  Elba 
had  long  vanished  in  the  gloom,  and  then,  going 
about,  he  commenced  to  beat  to  the  south,  trying  to 
run  towards  the  Tuscan  coast,  but  trying  in  vain. 
Even  in  the  darkness  he  could  soon  tell  that  he  was 
making  no  headway. 

Again  he  tacked  and  drove  to  the  north-west,  head- 
ing, though  he  knew  it  not,  for  Capraya,  the  island 
of  the  wild  goats.  But  the  elements  were  against 
him.  Every  tack  he  made,  he  lost  ground.  The 
sea  grew  wilder  ;  the  billows  buffeted  his  boat's  bow, 
and  she  fell  off  from  the  wind.  He  was  far  from 
skilful,  and  at  last,  drenched  and  desponding,  gave 
up  the  struggle  and  ran  blindly  before  the  gale,  the 
towering  surges  chasing  him  and  threatening  to 
swamp  his  tiny  craft.  He  sat,  wet  and  miserable,  in 
the  stern,  holding  the  sheet  in  one  hand,  the  tiller  in 
the  other,  and  scarcely  caring  what  became  of  him. 
Long  before  morning  broke  he  had  to  ride  it  out  with 
the  oars  as  a  sea-anchor,  drifting  steadily  to  the  west- 
ward. There  was  a  little  food  and  a  keg  of  fresh 
water  on  board,  sufficient,  he  hoped,  to  last  him  till 
he  reached  land  of  some  description,  if  he  survived 
the  storm. 

He  was  nearer  safety  than  he  thought.  Both  sea 
and  wind  began  to  subside  as  the  pale  dawn  spread 
over  the  vault.  He  looked  to  the  east,  and  saw  far 
away  on  the  horizon  the  outlines  of  two  islands,  cloudy 
and  mysterious,  till  the  morning  sun  struck  upon 


i66          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

them,  and  they  showed  as  dark  masses  rising  high 
from  the  water  plain.  They  were  Elba  and  Capraya. 

But  long  before  his  attention  was  directed  else- 
where. Out  of  the  darkness  behind  him  loomed  some- 
thing huge  and  black  and  indistinct.  Suddenly  it 
began  to  take  shape,  and  as  the  light  of  a  new  day 
stretched  in  lemon-coloured  streaks  across  the  sky, 
he  saw  that  it  was  land.  A  misty  vapour  rolled 
upwards,  and  revealed  a  line  of  low  hills,  green  and 
brown,  a  rocky  coast  frilled  by  surf,  and  a  bold  head- 
land. To  the  south  the  sky  took  on  a  rosy  hue,  and 
there  also  the  veil  of  night  began  to  lift.  It  thinned 
as  it  rose,  thinned  to  filmy  streamers  like  white  smoke, 
and  disclosed  a  long  coast  line,  with  the  same  low 
hills  climbing  up  from  it.  The  mist  curtain  dis- 
persed still  more,  a  faint  blue  tinge  crept  up  from 
the  west,  and  there,  piled  one  upon  another,  rose 
peak  on  peak,  the  highest  glistening  a  dazzling 
white,  as  its  snow-covered  top  caught  a  shaft  of  sun- 
light 

It  was  the  inland  mountain  chain  of  Corsica. 
Neil  Darroch  guessed  as  much.  He  remembered 
having  noted  it  on  the  map,  but  it  was  hard  to 
realize  that  an  island  could  hold  such  rocky  giants 
as  those  which  reared  up,  gray  and  rugged,  behind 
the  bulwark  of  lower  hills.  One  of  the  wonders  of 
Corsica  is  the  loftiness  of  its  summits.  Its  area  is 
comparatively  small,  and  yet  its  mountain-tops  rise 
7,000  and  8,000  feet  above  the  level  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean, crowded  together,  separated  from  one  another 
by  deep  rifts  and  forest-clad  valleys,  by  mighty  pre- 
cipices and  narrow  gorges.  It  is  like  a  wide  continent 
in  miniature.  Neil  Darroch  hailed  it  with  delight. 
He  dragged  the  oars  abroad,  hoisted  his  soaking  sail, 
and  made  straight  for  it,  tossing  and  pitching  on  the 
lively  waves,  which  ran  towards  the  beach.  He  was 
some  three  miles  away,  and  long  before  he  drew  near 
he  could  see  clumps  of  trees,  and  here  and  there 
white  buildings  dotted  the  vivid  green  of  the  slopes. 


FROM  PERIL  TO  PERIL         167 

These  were  few  in  number,  for  Cape  Corso  is  but 
sparsely  inhabited,  and  its  villages  are  small. 

He  headed  for  a  spot  where  there  was  no  sign  of 
life,  as  he  was  doubtful  as  to  his  reception.  It  was 
merry  work  threshing  along  before  a  strong  breeze, 
and  Neil's  spirits  rose.  His  languor  left  him  ;  he 
forgot  his  weariness  and  feebleness,  and  fixed  his  eyes 
eagerly  on  this  new  land  whither  he  had  drifted. 
On  he  drove,  till  he  caught  sight  of  a  little  bay 
between  the  fringing  rocks,  over  which  the  spray 
was  flying  in  showers.  He  steered  carefully  towards 
it ;  the  boat  was  caught  up  by  one  breaker  after 
another,  came  crunching  down  upon  a  sunken  reef, 
half  filled,  was  washed  clear,  and  finally,  with  her 
bottom  stove  in,  was  hurled  up  on  a  stretch  of  silvery 
sand. 

Neil  leapt  out,  leaving  his  craft  to  her  fate.  He 
staggered  a  short  way,  and  then  sat  down,  a  prayer 
of  thankfulness  rising  to  his  lips.  He  caught  at  the 
soft  dry  sand  and  let  it  trickle  through  his  fingers ; 
he  laughed  to  himself,  and  shook  his  fist  at  the  sea. 
The  reaction  was  so  great  that  he  felt  like  a  child 
and  behaved  like  one.  When  he  had  rested  he  got 
upon  his  feet  and  looked  about  him.  A  path  ran 
along  the  shore  at  the  base  of  a  steep  slope,  which 
was  covered  with  low-growing  trees  and  shrubs.  The 
latter  was  the  Corsican  macchie  and  was  sprinkled 
with  blossoms  white  and  red.  A  heavy  scent  as  of 
sweet-smelling  musk  was  wafted  to  him.  The  air 
seemed  full  of  aromatic  odours.  The  rocky  bank  in 
which  the  beach  ended,  and  which  was  topped  by 
the  dry,  white  road,  was  covered  with  vegetation. 
Bunches  of  dark-leaved  plants  bedecked  it,  tiny 
purple  and  crimson  flowers  peeped  out  from  its 
crannies,  strange  cactus-like  forms,  pulpy  and  spiny, 
stood  stiff  and  erect  amongst  the  trailing  under- 
growth. The  place  resembled  a  shrubbery  formed 
to  delight  the  eye  and  perfume  the  air.  Everywhere 
he  looked  there  was  bright  colouring,  the  waves  a 


168         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

brilliant  blue,  the  sand  and  spray  a  dazzling  white, 
the  hills  behind  green  and  pearly  gray. 

Corsica,  where  it  is  not  barren  and  sterile,  is  a 
veritable  garden.  Neil  stood  entranced,  as  if  it  were 
all  a  dream,  which  would  vanish  for  ever.  The  sight 
of  the  boat  lying  broadside  to  the  beach,  and  beating 
itself  to  pieces,  recalled  him  to  his  position.  He 
waded  in  beside  it,  and  secured  what  food  was  left, 
dried  fish  and  raw  macaroni.  Then,  returning,  he 
stripped  to  the  skin  and  spread  out  his  clothes  to 
dry.  It  was  already  growing  hot.  Bright-eyed 
lizards  came  forth  from  holes  and  sunned  themselves. 
Birds  twittered  merrily  amongst  the  bushes.  There 
was  something  in  the  life  and  gaiety  of  his  surround- 
ings which  brought  back  Kate  Ingleby  to  his  mind. 
For  weeks  he  had  resolutely  thrust  all  thought  of  her 
aside,  for  such  thoughts  had  been  torture  to  him. 
Now,  however,  that  he  was  again  his  own  master 
that  hope  which,  thank  God !  is  so  rarely  absent 
altogether  from  the  most  unhappy,  sprang  up  again 
within  him.  She  might  have  met  Mr.  Quill  and 
reached  Paris  after  all,  and  he  himself  was  not  so  far 
from  France. 

With  a  lighter  heart  than  he  had  known  for  many 
a  day  Neil  made  a  scanty  breakfast,  and  set  off  along 
the  road — a  road  fringed  by  tall  grasses  and  the  weird 
prickly  pear,  lined  on  one  side  by  high  banks  of 
reddish  soil,  over  which  hung  masses  of  golden 
spurge,  on  whose  crests  nodded  tall  foxgloves.  As 
he  approached  in  the  boat,  he  had  seen  a  village 
with  a  watch-tower  to  the  north  of  him,  situated  on  a 
promontory  which  jutted  far  out  into  the  sea.  He 
took  the  opposite  direction,  and  trudged  steadily  along, 
half  wondering  if  he  were  in  fairyland.  His  musings 
were  rudely  interrupted.  As  he  rounded  a  corner, 
the  black  barrel  of  a  musket  was  thrust  over  the  top 
of  a  boulder,  and  a  voice  called  out  in  French : 
'  Halt,  there !  Throw  up  your  arms  !' 
He  stopped,  and  involuntarily  did  as  he  was  bid, 


FROM  PERIL  TO  PERIL         169 

wondering  dully  what  new  misery  was  about  to  oefall 
him.  He  had  begun  to  look  for  nothing  else  in  life, 
despite  his  brief  period  of  hopefulness.  Presently  the 
barrel  slid  along  its  rest,  and  a  tall  man,  picturesquely 
clad  in  a  coloured  cap  of  red,  a  loose  jacket,  em- 
broidered vest,  and  crimson  sash,  with  breeches 
tucked  into  long  boots  of  soft,  untanned  leather, 
made  his  appearance.  He  carried  his  weapon  care- 
lessly, and  had  the  air  of  one  who  has  been  alarmed, 
but  is  reassured. 

Carlo  Massoni — for  it  was  he — had  need  of  some 
caution  in  Corsica.  His  family  had  been  engaged 
for  years  in  more  than  one  vendetta,  and  he  never 
knew  when  a  bullet  might  plunge  into  his  back  or 
flick  out  his  brains.  Such  uncertain  knowledge  is 
an  excellent  preventive  against  sluggish  habits  and 
day-dreaming.  Massoni  was  always  very  wide-awake 
when  breathing  his  native  air.  Thus,  on  hearing 
someone  approaching,  he  had  hastily  concealed  him- 
self, but  he  quickly  saw  that  the  stranger  was  harm- 
less enough.  Though  satisfied  on  this  point,  he  was 
sufficiently  surprised  at  his  appearance,  and  no  wonder. 
Neil's  coloured  shirt  and  loose  sailor's  breeches  had 
both  shrunk,  the  latter  so  much  that  his  legs  were 
bare  half-way  to  the  knees ;  he  wore  shoes  of  list,  and 
carried  his  provender  in  a  knotted  kerchief. 

Massoni  in  all  his  experience  of  Corsica  had  seen 
nothing  quite  like  this  tall,  gaunt  man.  He  spoke 
rapidly  to  him  in  the  patois  of  the  island,  but  Neil 
still  stood  with  his  arms  raised  above  his  head,  as  if 
invoking  a  blessing  on  the  man  who  had  made  him 
assume  so  uncomfortable  and  undignified  a  position. 
Massoni,  however,  relieved  him  from  it  by  repeating 
himself  in  broken  English.  He  was  testing  the 
stranger's  nationality.  He  himself  had  from  various 
reasons  been  greatly  delayed  on  his  journey  south. 

France  was  in  a  restless  state,  and  every  gendarme 
suspected  a  conspirator  of  some  sort  in  every  traveller 
he  met.  Massoni  had  been  questioned  and  cross- 


1 70         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

questioned  till  he  hit  upon  the  expedient  of  question- 
ing his  questioners  as  though  he  were  a  commissary 
of  police,  and  this  bold  move,  together  with  his  size 
and  scowling  face,  secured  him  from  further  annoy- 
ance. But  so  much  time  was  wasted  through  this  and 
other  causes  that  he  missed  a  vessel  sailing  for  Ajaccio, 
which,  being  nearer  his  home  on  the  slopes  of  Monte 
Padro,  was  his  original  destination.  He  had  eventu- 
ally to  be  content  with  a  passage  to  Bastia,  and 
having  left  his  baggage  there,  had  passed  the  night 
with  a  relative  at  the  sea-coast  village  of  Erbalunga. 
Now  he  was  returning  to  take  the  steep  hill-road 
which  led  from  Bastia  to  the  west. 

'  You  are  an  Englishman  ?'  he  said  in  French. 

'  You  are  mistaken,  sir,'  answered  Neil,  who  was 
not  impressed  in  favour  of  this  swarthy-complexioned 
inquisitor. 

'  Take  care/  said  the  latter,  tapping  the  barrel  of 
his  musket ;  '  do  not  trifle  with  me.' 

'  I  am  not  likely  to,'  answered  Neil, '  while  you  hold 
the  cards.' 

He  did  not  turn  the  phrase  properly.  Massoni 
showed  his  white  teeth,  which  contrasted  with  the 
jet-black  of  his  tiny  pointed  moustache. 

'  What  is  your  name  ?'  he  asked. 

'  I  cannot  see  how  that  concerns  you,'  said  Neil 
coldly.  '  I  have  the  honour  to  wish  you  good-morn- 
ing.' 

'  Not  so  fast,  my  friend,'  laughed  Massoni.  '  I  am 
responsible  for  strangers  here.  We  will  retrace  our 
steps  a  little,  so  face  about.' 

He  emphasized  his  words  by  thrusting  the  muzzle 
of  his  musket  into  the  small  of  Neil's  back,  and  there 
was  nothing  for  it  but  to  obey.  Presently  they  came 
upon  the  wrecked  boat. 

'  Sapristi !'  said  Massoni  in  the  Italian  fashion, 
'  Elbese !  There  is  something  strange  here.' 

He  seemed  to  meditate  a  moment,  and  then  his, 
manner  changed.  He  became  affable  and  polite. 


FROM  PERIL  TO  PERIL         171 

'  I  have  made  a  mistake,'  he  said  ;  '  your  pardon, 
sir.  I  am  the  Signer  Massoni,  of  Olima,  a  place  two 
days'  journey  hence  amongst  the  mountains.  I 
perceive  you  have  been  unfortunate,  and  shall  be 
pleased  if  you  will  accept  my  hospitality.  This  is  a 
barren  coast  as  far  as  people  are  concerned,  and  the 
villages  are  dirty.' 

There  he  lied,  for  Bastia  was  but  a  few  miles  to  the 
south. 

Neil  did  not  understand  his  change  of  front,  but  he 
was  tired  and  helpless.  He  did  not  much  care  what 
became  of  him,  and  even  if  he  refused  the  man  might 
insist. 

'  I  return  your  confidence,'  he  answered.  '  My  name 
is  Noel  Deschamps.  True,  I  am  not  wholly  French, 
but  neither  am  I  in  any  sense  English,  I  thank 
Godl' 

Massoni  stared  at  him.  Again  he  was  at  fault. 
He  had  been  certain  this  was  one  of  the  race  he 
hated.  Still  he  determined  that  he  should  accompany 
him.  He  knew  the  Emperor  was  in  exile  on  the 
island,  which  he  could  see  rising  black  and  precipitous 
on  the  horizon  from  the  great  glittering  plain  of  the 
Mediterranean.  This  stranger  was  from  Elba,  there 
might  be  something  to  be  made  of  him,  information 
to  be  obtained  which  might  yet  prove  useful.  Brus- 
lart,  the  Governor  of  Corsica,  was  unscrupulous,  and 
Massoni  shrewdly  guessed  that  there  would  soon  be 
plots  on  foot.  This  Noel  Deschamps  might  mean 
money  and  perhaps  power,  might  further  his  schemes 
for  revenge,  therefore  he  resolved  not  to  lose  sight  of 
him. 

Neil  knew  nothing  of  Corsica,  its  geography,  or  the 
habits  of  its  people.  He  had  read  of  the  patriot 
Paoli,  he  had  heard  vaguely  of  brigandage  and  the 
vendetta,  but  he  was  practically  in  a  new  world. 
With  as  good  a  grace  as  he  could  muster  he  accepted 
Massoni's  offer,  and  together  they  set  out. 

The    two   days  which    followed    filled   him   with 


i;2         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

wonder.  The  scenery  would  have  entranced  him  had 
he  not  been  worrying  as  to  the  future,  and  trying  to 
fathom  his  companion. 

Following  a  track  winding  upwards  through  groves 
of  olive  and  walnut  trees,  they  climbed  the  steep  slope 
till  they  were  out  upon  a  bare  hillside — bare,  that  is, 
except  for  occasional  clumps  of  the  wild  cherry,  and 
patches  of  sweet-smelling  mountain  flowers.  They 
crowned  the  ridge,  and  beyond  stretched  a  prospect 
like  a  mighty  relief-map,  with  another  glimpse  of 
smiling  sunlit  sea  to  the  north.  Eventually  they 
reached  the  road  leading  to  the  little  town  of  St. 
Florent  on  the  gulf  of  that  name. 

Neil  found  Massoni  taciturn  and  uncommunicative, 
but  he  had  no  desire  to  talk.  He  was  too  busy 
noting  everything — the  brown-skinned,  drowsy  men, 
the  bare-footed  women  and  children,  the  quaint 
houses  of  stone  and  sun-dried  clay.  But  after  they 
had  eaten,  Massoni  provided  him  with  a  pair  of 
coarse  boots  and  a  hat  of  straw,  apologizing  for  the 
appearance  of  both,  and  they  left  the  beaten  track. 

Their  way  led  through  valleys  full  of  the  sound  of 
running  water  and  the  song  of  birds,  over  mountain 
spurs,  clothed  to  the  summit  by  clustering  ilex-trees 
or  chestnut  forests,  and  seamed  by  merry,  splashing 
cascades.  They  camped  in  the  open,  and  a  herd  of 
half-wild  goats  came  and  browsed  about  them,  and 
then  wandered  off,  as  clear  and  faint  came  a 
plaintive  piping  summoning  them  to  the  milking. 
The  sun  was  brilliant  all  day  long,  the  soft  breezes 
laden  with  the  scent  of  wood  violets  and  the  inevitable 
macchie,  and  now  and  then  with  the  resinous  smell 
wafted  from  sombre  fir-trees  on  the  higher  slopes. 

Neil  Darroch  felt  dazed  and  stupefied.  After  all 
the  misery  he  had  endured  this  seemed  to  him  a 
heaven  upon  earth.  He  was  content  at  last  to  gaze 
about  him,  and  eat  and  drink,  his  mind  well-nigh  a 
blank,  his  senses  intoxicated. 

On  they  marched,  by  paths  known  to  few;  and 


FROM  PERIL  TO  PERIL        173 

they  rapidly  drew  near  a  wilder  district,  the  nome  of 
Massoni ;  for  Olima  was  a  village  of  brigands. 

Upwards  they  toiled  till  they  were  amongst  gorges 
and  precipices,  till  above  gleamed  the  winter's  snow, 
capping  vast  mountain  flanks,  shaggy  with  fir  forests, 
or  barren,  like  Neil's  own  hills.  Ermine-tipped  cones 
stood  out  against  the  blue  sky  away  to  the  south, 
where  lay  Monte  Cinto  and  Monte  Rotondo,  giants 
amongst  giants.  In  front  towered  Monte  Padro, 
and  in  a  nook  on  its  eastern  side  they  came  upon 
Olima. 

It  was  a  dirty  village,  small  and  straggling,  but 
Massoni  lived  apart  in  a  fair-sized  house,  with  a  flat 
roof  and  a  covered  veranda,  a  house  perched  on  a 
tiny,  vine-clad  peak,  which  caught  all  the  sunlight 
that  played  upon  this  gloomy,  rock-girt  spot. 

Now  that  Neil  Darroch  saw  the  place  to  which 
Massoni  had  brought  him,  his  suspicions  were  again 
aroused.  He  felt  glad  he  had  a  knife  in  his  posses- 
sion when  a  score  of  wild-looking  men  appeared  and 
greeted  his  companion  with  cries  of  welcome.  They 
were  all  armed,  and  he  fancied  they  did  not  regard 
him  favourably.  Massoni,  however,  said  a  few  words 
to  them,  and  passed  on. 

'  Any  one  of  these  fellows  would  willingly  die  for 
me,'  he  told  Neil,  who  could  not  help  thinking  their 
devotion  might  be  expended  on  a  worthier  object. 

Still,  his  host  was  gracious  enough,  though  very 
taciturn.  He  did  not  even  put  any  further  questions, 
but  Neil  could  see  that  he  was  absorbed  in  his  own 
thoughts,  which  seemed  to  afford  him  infinite  satis- 
faction. Massoni,  indeed,  was  gloating  over  his  long- 
delayed  revenge. 

Neil  slept  well  and  soundly,  despite  his  new 
surroundings,  for  the  long  march  had  wearied  him.  In 
the  morning  he  found  a  suit  of  clothes  laid  out  for  him, 
and  a  boy  came,  who  indicated  by  signs  that  he  would 
attend  to  his  wishes.  He  saw  nothing  of  Massoni 
till  the  evening,  and  spent  the  day  in  the  house, 


174         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

watching,  from  its  windows,  which  had  shutters  but 
no  glass,  the  magnificent  panorama  of  crag  and  forest 
spread  out  below  him. 

Massoni  hardly  spoke  at  the  evening  meal  of  goat's 
flesh  and  dried  fruit,  save  to  compliment  him  on  his 
appetite,  and  to  inquire  politely  if  he  lacked  any- 
thing. For  all  that,  Neil  could  not  overcome  a  certain 
dislike  to  him,  which  he  strove  to  banish,  but  in  vain. 
Now  that  his  body  was  rested,  his  mind  became  more 
active,  and  he  lay  awake  on  his  hard  bed,  which  was 
too  short  for  him,  and  reviewed  the  situation.  Had 
any  man,  he  asked  himself,  undergone  such  a  series  of 
remarkable  changes  in  such  a  time?  'Adventures 
are  to  the  adventurous/  they  say,  but  they  had 
crowded  on  him  unsought. 

As  he  tossed  to  and  fro,  he  suddenly  became  aware 
of  a  repeated  tapping  on  the  shutters.  He  imagined 
that  a  lizard  was  running  up  and  down  them,  or  that 
the  light  breeze  was  playing  with  a  loose  spar.  But 
no  ;  the  noise  continued,  and  grew  in  intensity.  Some- 
one upon  the  veranda  was  making  him  a  signal 

He  rose,  slipped  on  some  clothes,  and,  with  the 
clasp-knife  open  in  his  hand,  stealthily  crossed  to  the 
window  and  looked  out.  He  could  see  through  the 
slits  a  dark  figure,  and  as  he  stood  and  watched  it 
the  tapping  ceased. 

'  Open  !  For  God's  sake  open  !'  said  a  low  voice  in 
French. 

Neil  experienced  a  feeling  of  relief.  It  was  a 
woman  who  spoke  to  him.  Wondering  what  was 
about  to  happen,  he  undid  the  fastenings,  still  keep- 
ing his  weapon  ready  in  case  of  need.  It  was  one  of 
those  lovely  nights  which  come  but  rarely  in  his  own 
land.  A  gorgeous  moon  sailed  high  in  a  vault  which 
was  blue-black  in  colour,  and  studded  with  innumer- 
able stars,  and  a  silver  light  made  all  well-nigh  as 
plain  as  in  the  daytime. 

A  form,  shrouded  in  some  kind  of  drapery,  slipped 
into  the  room  and  stood  before  him. 


FROM  PERIL  TO  PERIL        175 

'  What  do  you  want  ?'  he  asked  in  a  tone  which  had 
a  warning  in  it. 

'  I  want  a  brave  man,'  was  the  answer,  and  with 
that  the  woman,  by  a  quick  motion,  bared  her  face,  a 
face  so  full  of  woe,  of  deep  suffering,  that  Neil's  pity 
was  aroused. 

He  had  been  growing  selfish,  and  no  wonder,  per- 
haps. It  was  well  for  him  to  find  there  were  others 
who  had  known  misery  and  shame. 

'  God  knows,'  he  said  solemnly,  '  if  you  have  come 
to  the  right  place.  I  was  once  brave  enough,  but 
now ' 

'  You  must  be — you  are  an  Englishman  !'  she  said 
in  a  quick,  breathless  whisper. 

He  felt  as  if  he  had  been  stung. 

'  I  am  not,'  he  said  harshly. 

The  woman  gave  a  faint  cry  of  dismay  which 
touched  him. 

'  Still,  I  may  aid  you/  he  said. 

'  Then  you  are  French  ?* 

He  did  not  answer. 

'  It  is  no  matter,'  she  whispered  hastily ; '  yonr  face 
is  good  and  strong ;  and  besides,  you  yourself  are  in 
danger.' 

'Indeed!' 

'  Yes,  though  I  thought  it  was  because  you  were 
English,  for  Carlo  hates  them  ;  but  he  has  brought 
you  here  for  evil,  be  sure  of  that.' 

'  He  has  been  kindness  itself.' 

'  Ah !  you  do  not  know  him  ;  but  I  have  no  time 
to  say  much.  Listen,  and  do  not  refuse  me  ;  it  is  not 
for  myself  I  ask,'  she  pleaded. 

It  had  once  been  a  fair  face  which  was  now  lifted 
entreatingly  to  his,  a  face  crowned  by  soft  brown  hair, 
and  lighted  by  a  pair  of  faded  eyes,  which  long  ago 
had  been  full  of  beauty,  a  face  both  sensitive  and 
refined,  but  worn  and  weary. 

'  I  will  listen,'  he  said  gently. 

1  Then  learn  first  who  I  am.     Years  since,  when  I 


176         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

was  but  a  girl,  Carlo  Massoni  would  have  made  me 
his  wife,  but  I  would  have  none  of  him,  though  he 
fancied  I  was  not  indifferent.  Then,  as  ever,  he  was 
blinded  by  conceit,  headstrong,  and  vicious.  There 
was  to  me  but  one  on  earth  to  whom  I  would  have 
given  myself,  and  he,  alas ! — he  did  not  care.  In 
those  days  he  had  no  thought  for  women.' 

She  paused,  trying  vainly  to  conceal  her  agitation. 

'And  this  man,  who  was  he?'  asked  Neil  with  a 
faint  trace  of  his  old  legal  bearing. 

'  He  was — how  am  I  to  own  it  to  a  stranger  ?  He 
was  the  man  who  is  now  the  Emperor  of  the  French.' 

'  Napoleon !' 

'  Hush  !  you  will  be  heard.  Yes,  Napoleon  Buona- 
parte of  Ajaccio,  now  the  greatest  of  the  great.' 

Neil  noted  the  proud  ring  in  her  voice.  He  had 
been  on  the  point  of  telling  her  how  Napoleon  had 
fallen.  Now  he  refrained. 

'  Well  ?'  he  asked,  for  she  stood  as  if  in  a  reverie, 
a  wan  smile  upon  her  pale  lips. 

'  Ah  !  yes.  When  Massoni  found  I  wourd  not  be 
his  wife,  he  vowed  that  I  should  be  no  other's,  and 
one  night  he  and  his  brothers  carried  me  off  to  the 
mountains.  You  can  guess  the  rest,  monsieur.' 

Neil  bowed.     He  was  strangely  moved. 

'  But  your  friends  ?'  he  asked. 

'  They  tried  to  rescue  me,  but  everyone,  my  father, 
my  two  brothers,  my  cousins,  all,  all  were  shot,  one 
after  the  other.  I  have  now  no  friends,  monsieur — in 
all  the  wide  world  not  one  to  help.' 

'  Your  pardon,'  said  Neil ;  '  I  am  ready.' 

She  gave  a  sob  of  joy. 

'  Ah !  I  knew  you  were  a  good  man !'  she  cried. 
'  And  we  will  save  him  yet !' 

'Him?' 

'  Yes ;  listen  again.  It  will  not  be  for  long. 
Massoni,  five  years  ago,  sent  here  a  man  who  has 
been  held  a  prisoner  ever  since,  who  has  been  tortured, 
who  is  kept  in  a  miserable  hole  upon  the  side  of  a 


FROM  PERIL  TO  PERIL         177 

precipice,  but  who  is  brave — braver  than  any  I  have 
heard  of.  If  you  could  hear  him  singing  cheerily  in 
spite  of  his  troubles !  I  have  wept  for  him  often.' 

'  Who  is  he  ?'  asked  Neil,  now  full  of  interest. 

'  He  is  a  servant  of  the  Emperor,'  she  answered, 
'  who  would  be  faithful  to  the  death,  and  it  is  from 
death  that  he  must  be  saved.  In  two  days  Massoni 
is  to  kill  him — kill,  no,  butcher  him  !  He  is  but 
waiting  till  his  brother,  cruel  as  himself,  comes  from 
Bonifacio.  I  have  tried  before  now  to  help  him,  but ' 
— her  voice  trembled — '  I  have  not  the  courage.  I 
could  beat  myself  for  my  cowardice,  but  I  am  afraid 
of  the  sentinel  who  guards  the  edge  of  the  cliff  night 
and  day.  Heaven  help  me !  I  was  not  always  a 
coward,  but '  she  began  to  weep  softly. 

'  My  God !'  said  Neil  to  himself  in  English.  *  May 
I  perish  like  a  dog  if  I  do  not  thwart  this  Massoni !' 

Not  for  a  moment  did  he  doubt  the  woman. 

'  Quick  !'  he  said.     '  Tell  me  what  is  to  be  done.' 

'  All  is  ready,'  she  answered.  '  It  has  long  been 
ready,  but  it  will  be  best  to  wait  for  daylight' 

She  snatched  at  his  hand,  and  kissed  it  passionately. 

He  drew  it  back  quietly,  and  somehow  took  the 
lead. 

'  Then  as  soon  as  it  is  dawn  you  will  meet  me — 
where  ?' 

*  On  the  ground  below  where  we  stand.' 

'  Good.     Have  you  a  knife  ?' 

'  I  will  bring  a  dagger  with  a  cutting  edge,  a  strong 
rope,  and  all  that  is  needed.  It  will  be  necessary, 
perhaps,  to  kill  the  guard,'  she  said  fearfully. 

'  If  necessary,'  replied  Neil  grimly,  '  he  shall  be 
killed.' 

'  At  dawn,  then  ;  and  the  good  God  thank  you,  for 
I  cannot.' 

'  At  dawn  be  it,'  said  Neil  Uarroch. 


1 78          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  GASCON 

A  MAN  stood  leaning  on  his  gun,  watching  the 
birth  of  a  new  day,  gazing  with  dull  eyes  at 
the  glorious  spectacle  of  dawn  amongst  the 
mountains,  the  play  of  colours  in  the  eastern  sky,  the 
long  shafts  of  golden  light  streaming  from  north  to 
south,  tinging  the  rising  mists  till  the  vapours 
glistened  with  rainbow  hues,  like  shimmering  opals, 
striking  on  peak  and  pinnacle  and  jet-black  forest, 
and  on  the  green  carpeting  of  the  silent  valleys.  It 
moved  him  not  one  whit.  He  had  seen  it  too  often 
to  find  it  wonderful ;  his  was  not  the  eye  which 
appreciates  the  beautiful.  He  was  sleepy  with  his 
long  vigil,  though  he  had  not  troubled  to  keep  awake 
all  night.  Why  should  he  ?  It  was  folly  to  require 
it  of  him,  when  the  prisoner  had  been  safe  for  five 
long  years.  How  could  one  escape  in  such  a  place  ? 
Who  would  even  try  to  rescue  him  ?  The  man 
grunted.  He  would  not  yet  be  relieved  for  six 
mortal  hours,  and  he  was  hungry.  Suddenly,  with- 
out warning,  a  great  bony  hand  fastened  on  his 
mouth,  his  head  was  wrenched  backwards,  and  a 
knee  was  driven  into  the  small  of  his  back.  As  he 
staggered  and  fell,  his  gun  was  snatched  from  him. 
Then,  before  he  quite  knew  what  had  happened,  he 
found  himself  lying  on  his  back,  gagged  and  bound. 

'  So  far,  so  good,'  said  Neil  Darroch  ;  '  he  will  not 
trouble  us  further.  And  now,  where  is  the  place  ?' 

'  This  way,'  said  his  companion,  and  led  him 
forward  a  few  paces  to  where  a  thick-stemmed  tree 
grew  upon  a  cliff  edge. 

Neil  looked,  and  was  astonished.  Below  him  was 
a  huge  rift — a  gorge,  whose  sides,  clad  with  verdure 
far  below,  rose  upwards  from  the  tree-belt  five 
hundred  feet,  barren  and  precipitous.  At  its  base 
he  could  trace  the  thread  of  silver  that  marked  the 


THE  GASCON  179 

water-course  which  had  through  countless  ages  cut 
this  caflon  in  the  mountain's  flank.  It  made  him 
giddy  to  look  into  its  depths,  where  as  a  mere  speck 
he  could  see  some  great  bird  sailing  slowly  along  in 
mid-air. 

'Look,'  said  the  woman;  'do  you  see  that  ledge 
straight  below,  some  twenty  feet  down  ?  It  is  upon 
it  that  the  cave  opens  in  which  he  is.  Ah,  listen  ! 
Did  I  not  tell  you  so  ?' 

There  floated  up  to  him  the  sound  of  a  man's  voice 
singing.  Neil  recognised  the  air.  It  was  the  '  Mar- 
seillaise.' 

'  Is  he  not  brave  ?'  said  the  woman.  '  At  all  hours 
I  have  heard  him,  and  that  is  his  favourite.' 

'  Yes,'  said  Neil  slowly,  and  there  was  a  moisture 
in  his  eyes;  '  he  is  worth  the  saving.' 

They  returned  to  where  they  had  laid  down  the 
rope  and  their  provisions  before  securing  the  sentinel. 

'  They  have  a  ladder  made  of  rope  and  wood,'  said 
the  woman,  '  but  this  is  the  best  I  could  get.  I  stole 
it  three  years  ago,  yet  it  is  good  and  strong.' 

'  I  cannot  see,'  said  Neil,  '  how  they  could  get  him 
up  without  danger  to  themselves,  if  he  has  any 
sense.' 

'  You  forget/  she  said,  '  they  have  pistols  ;  they 
could  shoot  him  from  the  ladder.  But  see,  I  have 
written  a  note  saying  we  are  friends,  and  here  is  a 
cord  by  which  to  lower  it.  We  need  a  small  stone 
to  weight  It.' 

'  You  are  thoughtful,'  said  Neil. 

'  I  have  had  plenty  of  time  to  think,'  answered  the 
woman  sadly. 

A  man  who  was  half  choking,  whose  eyes  were 
glaring  at  them  in  rage,  was  finding  time  pass  all  too 
quickly  from  one  point  of  view,  and  all  too  slowly 
from  another.  He  was  working  desperately  at  his 
lashings. 

Neil  Darroch  lay  down,  and  gave  a  low  whistle. 
The  singing  ceased  abruptly.  He  whistled  again, 

12—2 


i8o         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

and  a  man  appeared  on  the  little  platform  of  rock. 
The  letter  was  lowered,  and  they  saw  him  receive 
it  safely  and  read  its  contents.  He  looked  up,  and 
began  making  signs.  He  held  a  hand  aloft  and 
shook  it  vigorously,  as  if  in  pain.  He  pointed  to  his 
palm. 

'  He  is  hurt,'  said  Neil, '  and  cannot  hold  on  to  the 
rope.' 

'  What  are  we  to  do  ?'  cried  the  woman  in  despair. 

'  There  is  but  one  thing  for  it,'  he  answered,  '  if  the 
rope  is  long  enough,  and  that  is  to  cut  off  a  portion. 
I  shall  descend,  fasten  him  to  myself — he  does  not 
look  heavy — and  bring  him  up.' 

'  But  can  you  ?  will  you  be  able  ?' 

1 1  can  but  try,'  he  said ;  '  and,'  he  added  to  him- 
self, '  it  would  seem  I  have  not  served  on  the  Rattler 
for  nothing.' 

They  made  the  rope  fast  round  the  tree.  It 
reached  the  ledge  easily,  and  there  was  plenty  to 
spare. 

Neil  pulled  it  up  again,  knotted  it  in  several  places, 
again  made  it  fast,  tested  it,  and  saw  there  was 
nothing  which  could  chafe  it. 

'  Now,'  he  said,  '  keep  a  good  watch  and  a  good 
heart' 

The  woman  did  not  reply,  she  was  too  excited  to 
speak. 

Neil  lowered  himself  carefully  over  the  cliff,  and 
descended  slowly.  As  he  did  so  he  noticed  that  the 
cliff  face  was  practically  a  smooth  wall,  affording 
absolutely  no  footing.  It  was  a  fiendish  idea  to 
imprison  anyone  in  such  a  spot.  Neil's  only  wonder 
was  that  the  man  below  him  had  not  long  since 
hurled  himself  into  space,  and  found  relief  in  death. 
He  did  not  know  Jules  Gironde. 

As  he  said  to  himself,  his  experience  on  the  frigate 
now  stood  him  in  good  stead.  He  took  care  not  to 
look  down  into  the  abyss  below  him,  but  kept  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  rock  face  past  which  he  slipped.  The 


THE  GASCON  181 

man  below  kept  the  rope  as  taut  as  he  could.  Neil 
found  the  descent  easier  than  he  anticipated. 

Presently  a  hand  caught  him  by  the  leg,  and  a 
moment  later  he  was  upon  the  ledge,  and  before 
him  stood  the  strangest  figure  of  a  man  he  had  ever 
seen.  He  was  short  and  thickly-built,  and  clad  in 
rags.  He  was  bareheaded,  and  his  skin  showed 
through  great  rents  in  his  boots.  He  looked  more 
like  a  scarecrow  than  anything  else,  and  stood  peer- 
ing at  Neil  out  of  half-closed  eyes  like  a  sleepy 
chicken  wakened  in  the  hen-roost. 

As  Neil  returned  his  scrutiny  with  interest,  he 
noticed  that  there  was  something  very  singular  about 
him.  For  a  moment  he  could  not  discern  the  cause  ; 
then,  with  a  start,  he  perceived  that  the  man  had 
no  ears.  The  outline  of  his  head  was  unbroken.  It 
was  marked  by  a  dark  red  scar  on  either  side,  and 
in  the  centre  of  each  was  an  oval  hole,  surrounded 
by  pouting  skin,  like  the  featherless  auricle  of  a  bird. 
A  straggling,  untidy  beard  bedecked  his  cheeks  and 
chin,  but  his  scalp  was  nearly  bald,  though  what  hair 
there  was  had  a  fluffy  appearance,  and  was  gray  in 
colour.  It  resembled  the  fine  fur  of  a  young  rabbit. 
His  face  was  brown  as  a  berry,  and  was  the  face  of 
a  man  who  had  once  been  fat.  There  was  some- 
thing pitiful  in  its  evident  capacity  for  filling  out,  in 
its  empty  lurks  of  skin  and  furrowed  leanness.  For 
all  that  he  had  not  the  alert  look  of  a  hungry  animal, 
but  rather  the  dull,  heavy  expression  of  one  who  had 
fasted  long  and  slept  little.  His  eyes  were  weak  and 
reddened  at  the  lid-margins,  but  Neil  could  see  the 
excitement  in  them.  Jules  Gironde  seemed  suddenly 
to  rouse  himself.  He  clapped  his  heels  together  and 
bowed. 

Neil  nodded  to  him.  It  was  no  time  for  ceremony. 
He  could  see  behind  the  man  an  opening  in  the  cliff 
about  four  feet  in  height.  The  ledge  was  narrow, 
and  ended  abruptly  on  either  side  ;  he  did  not  feel 
inclined  to  look  behind  him. 


182          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

'  Vour  hand  is  hurt  ?'  said  Neil  in  French. 

'  But  yes,'  said  Jules  Gironde  in  a  shaky  voice  ; 
and  then,  to  Neil's  astonishment,  he  came  rapidly  to 
the  salute.  '  Courage,  my  friend,  courage  for  the 
Emperor !'  he  exclaimed. 

Neil  began  to  think  that  his  sufferings  had  turned 
his  brain.  He  was  about  to  explain  the  plan  of 
rescue  when  from  above  a  scream  rang  out,  repeated 
twice,  and,  before  he  could  realize  what  was  happen- 
ing, the  body  of  a  woman  flashed  past  him  and 
vanished  from  his  sight.  There  was  dead  silence 
for  fully  a  minute,  and  then  came  a  faint  sound,  as 
of  the  distant  crackling  of  twigs,  and  again  silence. 
At  the  same  moment  the  rope  began  to  glide  up- 
wards. He  made  a  wild  snatch  at  it  but  was  too 
late,  and  would  have  followed  the  hapless  woman  to 
destruction  had  not  Gironde  seized  him  by  the  arm. 
Overcome  with  horror,  Neil  staggered  towards  the 
cave,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands. 

Gironde  stepped  to  the  edge  and  quietly  looked 
over.  There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  that  with 
which  he  was  only  too  familiar. 

'  God  rest  her  soul !'  said  Jules  Gironde. 

Presently  Neil  became  conscious  of  a  slap  upon 
the  shoulder. 

'  Follow  me,'  said  a  voice,  and  Gironde  led  the  way 
into  the  grotto. 

Neil,  by  a  great  effort,  mastered  his  emotion.  '  Her 
troubles  are  at  an  end,'  he  told  himself.  His  own 
seemed  to  have  begun  afresh. 

'  What  are  we  to  do  now  ?'  he  asked.  '  The  rope  is 
gone,  the  food  is  gone,  and  presently  that  villain 
above,  who  must  have  somehow  got  free,  will  summon 
the  others.' 

4  And  the  others  will  not  find  us,  I  hope,'  answered 
Jules  Gironde. 

'  What  do  you  mean  ?'  cried  Neil,  who  had  been 
taking  in  the  features  of  the  place  in  which  he  now 
found  himself. 


THE  GASCON  183 

It  was  a  mere  hole  in  the  limestone,  with  irregular 
sides,  and  a  roof  which  at  its  inner  end  sloped  nearly 
to  the  floor,  and  from  which  water  dripped  in  parts. 
There  was  no  vestige  of  a  bed,  no  vestige  of  anything 
which  might  give  such  a  prison  even  the  semblance  oi 
comfort. 

'  Great  heavens  !'  said  Neil.  '  Have  you  lived  here 
five  years  ?' 

'  For  nearly  five  years,  monsieur/  said  the  little 
man.  '  Is  it  not  a  palace  ?'  He  waved  his  hand 
abroad  in  a  manner  which  reminded  Neil  of  Charles 
Deschamps.  'I  would  do  you  the  honours,'  he  added 
quaintly,  '  but  our  time  is  strictly  limited.  We  must 
leave  at  once,  and  fortunately  no  packing  up  is 
required.  May  I  inquire  the  name  of  my  travelling 
companion  ?' 

'  My  name,'  said  Neil,  '  is  Deschamps — Noel  Des- 
champs; but  I  fail  to  catch  your  meaning.  If  there 
is  any  passage  from  this  hole — and  I  confess  I  see 
none — why  have  you  remained  ?' 

'A  question,  sir,  which  does  you  credit;  but  look 
here !'  He  was  trembling  with  excitement,  and 
dragged  Neil  to  the  end  of  the  cave.  A  light  began 
to  dawn  upon  the  latter. 

What  he  saw  was  a  huge  rounded  block  of  black 
stone,  with  a  whitish  crusting  upon  it  here  and  there. 
Encircling  it  was  a  deep  groove,  which  looked  as  if  it 
had  been  chiselled. 

'  Behold  the  work  of  four  years — work  I  thought 
was  in  vain  until  ten  minutes  ago,'  said  Jules  Gironde 
with  an  air  of  triumph. 

'  I  do  not  understand,'  said  Neil  Darroch. 

'  That  is  natural  enough,  but  permit  me  to  explain 
in  a  few  words.  Ah,  my  friend,  if  you  knew  the  joy 
of  again  speaking  to  a  human  being !  but  there  will 
be  time  to  chatter  like  a  jay,  please  God.  Observe, 
then,  that  this  rock  is  different  from  the  rest.  It  did 
not  look  so  when  first  I  came  to  be. here,  for  it  was 
coated  with  a  deposit  of  lime — you  see  how  the  water 


184          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

trickles  over  it  ?  I  chipped  off  some  by  chance,  and 
more  for  amusement.'  He  laughed  softly.  '  It  has 
been  great  fun,'  he  said,  with  a  droll  wag  of  his  head. 
'  Here  are  my  tools  ' ;  he  picked  up  a  bone  and  a 
pointed  piece  of  rock.  '  I  worked  till  I  found  the  stone 
was  set  in  a  ring  of  hard  clay.  Then  I  understood. 
Said  I  to  myself,  "  Courage,  Jules  Gironde,  this  is 
man's  doing ;  there  is  a  passage  beyond."  I  am  from 
Gascony,'  he  added,  '  and  we  Gascons  are  not  easily 
beaten,  Monsieur  Deschamps.'  He  laid  emphasis  on 
the  name.  It  was  as  if  he  doubted  Neil's  word,  but 
the  latter  was  too  interested  to  notice  this  fact.  '  Is 
it  any  wonder  my  fingers  are  rough  and  torn  ?  At 
times  I  grew  frenzied  and  tore  at  it  with  my  nails. 
A  year  ago  I  had  picked  away  as  much  as  I  could 
pick.  Behold  the  result !' 

He  stooped,  and  pressed  his  shoulder  against  the 
stone  near  its  base.  Its  upper  part  swung  outwards 
towards  Neil,  but  its  movement  was  very  slight. 

'  You  see,'  said  Jules  Gironde,  '  I  have  not  the 
strength.  It  is  balanced  in  some  way.  I  think  a  bar 
of  iron  passes  through  its  centre,  and  is  fixed  in  the 
wall  on  either  side ;  but  that  does  not  matter  now. 
Together  we  shall  succeed.' 

'  But  what  is  beyond  ?' 

'  Ta,  ta,  ta  !'  said  the  little  man  testily ;  '  let  us  go 
and  see.  To  stay  here  means  death.' 

'  By  all  means,'  said  Neil  coldly,  '  let  us  ex- 
plore it.' 

Jules  Gironde  touched  his  arm. 

'  Do  not  be  offended,  my  friend,'  he  said.  '  I  am 
perhaps  a  little  elated  ;  but  remember  I  thought  I 
was  as  near  liberty  a  year  ago.  I  wept  when  I  found 
I  was  not  strong  enough  to  move  it,  but  I  shall  not 
weep  again.  If  I  was  rude  I  ask  your  pardon.' 

Neil  had  the  grace  to  feel  ashamed  of  his  touchi- 
ness. 

'  The  fault  is  mine,'  said  he,  and  gripped  the  hand 
which  the  impulsive  Gascon  proffered  him. 


THE  GASCON  185 

1  Mon  Dieu  !'  said  the  latter,  '  your  clasp  is  like  a 
vice,  but  all  the  better.  Catch  the  upper  edge  when 
I  press  again.  Are  you  ready  ?  Then,  ehoe,  ehoe  !' 

'  Parbleu !'  said  Gironde,  panting,  '  but  it  is  stiff. 
Again,  my  friend  ;  there  is  need  of  haste.' 

Once  more  they  struggled  with  the  block,  and  Neil 
summoned  all  his  energies  to  the  work  in  hand.  It 
creaked,  stuck  fast,  and  then  slowly  yielded  to  the 
strain. 

As  the  lower  half  was  raised  Gironde  crept  through 
beneath  it.  He  shifted  his  grasp,  and  then,  its 
fastenings  being  thoroughly  loosened,  managed  to  re- 
tain it  in  its  new  position  till  Neil  joined  him. 

Keeping  the  stone  raised,  they  could  see  that,  as 
Gironde  had  surmised,  a  tunnel  ran  away  from  it,  but 
owing  to  the  gloom,  it  was  impossible  to  make  out  its 
nature. 

'  At  last !'  said  Gironde;  '  God  is  very  good,'  and 
with  that  they  let  the  block  sink  heavily  back  into  its 
place. 

They  were  in  total  darkness.  Before  leaving  his 
prison  the  Gascon  had  taken  the  precaution  of  carry- 
ing through  with  him  the  fruit  of  his  labours,  in  other 
words,  the  pieces  of  clay  which  he  had  picked  out  so 
laboriously;  now  he  managed  to  thrust  them  into  the 
groove,  explaining  that  it  would  make  things  more 
difficult  for  their  pursuers,  and  then  they  began  to 
grope  their  way  along  the  passage,  proceeding  with 
the  greatest  care  and  in  utter  silence,  save  when 
Gironde,  who  led  the  way,  uttered  a  word  of  caution. 

The  air  was  damp  and  smelt  foul,  the  roof  low,  the 
floor  uneven.  When  they  stood  still  they  could  hear 
the  steady  drip  of  water-drops.  As  they  advanced 
they  became  conscious  that  they  were  gradually 
ascending.  They  were  proceeding  up  a  gentle 
slope. 

'  This,  also,'  said  Gironde  at  length,  '  is  the  work 
of  man.' 

Neil   did   not   answer.      He   was   thinking  of  the 


1 86          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

wretched  woman,  and  thinking  also  that  the  flint  and 
steel  had  gone  with  her,  otherwise  their  progress 
would  have  been  easier. 

Suddenly  Gironde  uttered  a  low  cry  of  surprise. 
He  had  come  upon  a  flight  of  rude  stairs  cut  in  the 
solid  rock.  He  halted  and  waited  till  Neil  joined 
him. 

'  Have  you  the  dagger  ready  ?'  he  asked  ;  '  we  may 
have  need  of  it  soon.' 

'  Here  it  is,  and  here  is  a  knife  which  you  had 
better  take.' 

'  Good,'  said  Gironde,  '  and  now  for  liberty!' 

They  mounted  steadily,  and  then  the  Gascon, 
whose  hands  were  stretched  out  before  him,  came 
again  to  a  stop.  The  stair  had  ended  ;  his  knuckles 
were  rapping  lightly  upon  wood. 

He  hurriedly  explained  the  situation. 

'  What  are  we  to  do  now  ?'  asked  Neil.  '  If  we  stay 
here  long  enough  we  shall  be  killed  like  rats  in  a 
hole.' 

'Pouf!'  said  Jules  Gironde, '  I  would  give  a  third 
ear  if  I  had  one  to  meet  them  here,  provided  they 
had  not  pistols  or  guns  ;  but  your  true  dog  of  a 
Corsican  is  never  without  his  musket ;  however,  I 
have  been  in  many  a  worse  fix  than  this.  Courage, 
my  friend !' 

All  the  time  he  was  feeling  the  woodwork  in  front 
of  him,  and  Neil,  standing  below,  heard  him  give  a 
grunt  of  satisfaction. 

'Your  dagger,'  said  the  Gascon.  'I  have  found  a 
spring,  but  be  ready  for  a  rush — God  knows  where 
we  are.' 

There  came  a  gentle  hammering,  then  a  click,  and 
the  blackness  before  them  vanished  as  if  by  magic. 
They  stood  staring  into  an  empty  room,  destitute  of 
furniture. 

'  Parbleu  !'  said  Jules  Gironde,  'a  sliding  panel,  as  I 
thought ;  but  I  would  wager  no  one  here  knows  of  its 
existence.  This  house  must  be  very  old.  En  avant !' 


THE  ESCAPE  187 

They  stepped  out,  and  while  his  companion  turned 
his  attention  to  the  secret  door,  which  he  found  to  be 
covered  with  whitewash,  like  the  walls  of  the  room, 
and  absolutely  indistinguishable  from  the  inside,  Neil 
crossed  to  a  small  window  and  looked  out. 

It  was  his  turn  to  be  surprised,  and  not  only  sur- 
prised but  astounded.  The  scene  which  now  greeted 
him  was  the  same  with  which  he  had  become 
acquainted  during  the  last  two  days. 

He  was  once  more  in  the  Villa  Olima,  the  strong- 
hold of  Carlo  Massoni. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  ESCAPE. 

CARCELY  had  he  realized  this  important  and 
astonishing  fact  when  he  also  became  aware 
that  they  were  in  one  of  the  upper  rooms,  and 
like  a  flash  he  remembered  having  noticed,  on  his 
first  approach,  that  a  portion  of  the  house  at  the  back 
seemed  built  into  the  solid  rock.  The  peak,  upon  part 
of  which  it  stood,  shot  up  behind  it  to  the  level  of  its 
roof  in  the  form  of  a  cock's  comb.  Had  Neil  not 
been  so  occupied  with  the  terrible  events  of  the  past, 
he  might  have  guessed  whither  the  rock  stair  led. 

As  it  was,  he  beckoned  to  Gironde,  whose  efforts  to 
replace  the  panel  were  in  vain.  If  an  inner  spring 
did  exist,  he  could  not  find  it.  The  Gascon,  as 
he  crossed  the  floor,  looked  a  different  being  from 
the  lethargic  creature  who  had  greeted  him  upon 
the  ledge.  He  had  wakened  up  with  a  ven- 
geance. His  movements  were  full  of  life  and 
energy.  He  had  a  huge  grin  upon  his  lean,  starved 
face. 

'  Do  you  know  where  we  are  ?'  whispered  Neil. 

'  To  be  sure,'  was  the  answer.  '  It  is  a  case  of  from 
frying-pan  to  fire.' 


i88         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

'  It  seems  to  afford  you  much  pleasure.' 

1  Ha !  ha !'  said  the  little  man  softly.  '  You  may 
yet  see  the  meaning  of  my  words.  Hush  !'  he  added 
quickly. 

From  immediately  below  them  came  the  sound  of 
an  angry  voice,  faint  but  unmistakable. 

In  a  moment  Gironde  darted  to  the  window,  peered 
from  it  for  a  second,  and  then  thrust  out  his  head. 
Withdrawing  it,  he  stood  back  and  surveyed  the 
opening. 

'  Superb  !'  said  he.  '  It  is  large  enough.  I  shall 
trouble  you  for  the  rope  you  have  tied  round  your 
middle,  monsieur.' 

Neil  had  forgotten  all  about  it.  It  was  the  piece 
with  which  he  had  intended  to  lash  Gironde  to  him- 
self. Certainly  this  blind-looking  mortal  had  all  his 
wits  about  him. 

As  he  unwound  the  coils  Gironde  again  examined 
the  window. 

'  What  are  you  up  to  now  ?'  asked  Neil. 

'  I  am  going  to  discover  what  is  going  on  in  the 
room  below,  that  is,  if  the  rope  be  long  enough.'  He 
laid  it  out  before  him.  '  It  will  do,1  he  said.  *  Now 
for  a  loop.  Monsieur,  may  I  ask  you  to  make  one  ? 
I  perceive  you  have  been  a  sailor,  and  my  hands  are 
too  painful.' 

Neil  was  by  this  time  so  amazed  that  he  asked  no 
more  questions. 

'  Allow  me  to  mount  on  your  back,'  said  Gironde. 
'  I  thank  you.  You  are  tall,  even  for  an  English- 
man.' 

Neil's  start  would  have  shaken  him  off  had  he  not 
been  already  half-way  through  the  aperture. 

'  There  is  no  one  about,'  said  he.  '  Be  good  enough 
to  slip  the  noose  round  my  right  foot.  Thank  you. 
Do  you  see  a  hook  on  the  wall,  to  which  a  bar  has 
once  been  fastened  ?  That  will  do  for  making  fast 
the  other  end.  Lower  away,  monsieur.' 

Neil  now  perceived  his  object.     He  was  about  to 


THE  ESCAPE  189 

descend  head  first,  so  that  he  might  bring  his  eyes  on 
a  level  with  a  window  directly  below,  and  yet  remain 
concealed  from  those  within.  Neil's  feelings  at  this 
extraordinary  escapade  were  a  mixture  of  wonder, 
horror  and  suspense. 

They  were  exactly  those  of  Jules  Gironde  himself, 
who  was  staring  upside  down  at  a  scene  in  which  he 
knew  both  actors — the  last  act  of  a  tragedy. 

Carlo  Massoni  had  been  roused  from  sleep  by  the 
arrival  of  the  sentinel  whose  duty  it  was  to  guard  the 
captive.  He  was  a  powerful  fellow,  and  had  twice 
got  clear  of  the  prison  in  Ajaccio,  so  that  he  knew  a 
trick  or  two  with  regard  to  the  freeing  of  wrists  and 
the  wriggling  out  of  lashings.  Once  rid  of  his  bonds, 
he  had  stealthily  crept  upon  the  woman  who  lay 
intently  watching  the  men  on  the  ledge  beneath 
her. 

Her  senses  were,  however,  acute.  She  heard  his 
approach,  turned  her  head,  and  read,  as  she  thought, 
murder  in  his  face.  Forgetting  everything  in  her 
wild  terror,  she  sprang  up,  and  as  he  made  a  rush 
towards  her,  stepped  backwards,  overbalanced,  and 
went  headlong  into  the  gorge,  crashing  through  the 
tree  belt  five  hundred  feet  below,  and  meeting  what 
may  have  been  an  easy  death. 

Vezzani,  the  sentinel,  did  not  turn  a  hair;  he  coolly 
dragged  up  the  rope,  and  then  lay  down  to  wait. 
His  object  was  to  shoot  the  man  who  had  gagged 
him.  His  delay  was  that  man's  salvation,  and  the 
reason  why  Jules  Gironde  was  a  witness  to  his  death  ; 
for  what  he  heard  were  these  words  : 

'  You  are  a  fool,  Vezzani,  a  blind  bat,  a  dog  without 
sense  ;  you  are  a  son  of  the  mountains,  and  yet  do  not 
know  that  the  surest  way  to  force  a  person  over  a 
cliff  is  to  rush  towards  him.  You  had  no  intention  of 
killing  her,  you  say,  Vezzani.  I  am  grieved,  my 
friend,  that  my  intentions  regarding  you  are  the  very 
opposite.  You  will  never  learn,  therefore ' 

And  what  Gironde  saw  was  a  dagger  sheathed  to 


190          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

the  hilt  in  a  man's  chest  and  the  exit  of  Carlo 
Massoni  from  a  room  on  the  floor  of  which  lay  a 
corpse. 

Such  was  the  news  he  gave  Neil  Darroch  when 
he  returned,  climbing  in  backwards  with  no  little 
difficulty. 

'  Behold  my  wisdom  !'  he  panted.  '  Had  we  gone 
out  by  the  door  ten  chances  to  one  we  would  have 
been  discovered  ;  but  men  in  my  trade  learn  a  thing 
or  two — oh  yes,  just  a  leetle,'  he  added  in  English, 
thrusting  his  tongue  into  his  cheek.  '  Now,'  he  went 
on,  '  the  house  will  be  clear  in  a  minute.  Listen  !' 

There  came  the  sound  of  a  sheep-horn  echoing 
amongst  the  hills. 

'  Massoni  can  know  nothing  of  this ' — he  jerked  his 
thumb  toward  the  passage — '  and  they  are  off  upon  a 
wild-goose  chase.  We  will  wait  here  for  five  minutes, 
then  go  downstairs.' 

'  The  boy  will  be  there,'  said  Neil. 

'  Ha  !  do  you  know  the  place  ?' 

'  I  slept  in  it  last  night.' 

'  The  devil  you  did !  It  is  more  than  anyone  will 
do  this  night.  Do  you  now  take  my  meaning  as  to 
the  fire  ?' 

*  But,'  said  Neil,  '  if  we  burn  the  house,  it  will 
summon  them  back.' 

4  Maybe,  my  friend,  but  our  start  will  be  a  short 
one  in  any  case,  and  no  man  shall  treat  Jules  Gironde 
like  a  bear  for  five  years,  and  spoil  his  beauty,  and 
torture  him  by  cold — such  cold  as  blinds — and  yet  go 
unscathed ;  he  will  burn  later,  his  house  will  burn 
now.  Are  you  with  me  in  this  matter  ?' 

'  I  am,'  replied  Neil  Darroch. 

They  opened  the  door,  descended  a  flight  of  wooden 
stairs,  and  Gironde,  after  pausing  a  moment,  gently 
opened  another  door,  and  pointed  with  his  ringer. 
Neil  Darroch,  looking  past  him,  saw  a  figure  lying 
huddled  on  the  floor. 

'  Does  anything  strike  you  ?'  whispered  Gironde. 


THE  ESCAPE  191 

'  Yes,'  answered  Neil.  '  Massoni  may  not  object  to 
having  his  handiwork  concealed.' 

'  Precisely,'  replied  the  Gascon.  '  I  ask  your 
pardon  for  having  thought  you  a  fool,  though  a 
brave  man.' 

'  I  lay  claim  to  be  neither,'  said  Neil,  with  a  touch 
of  his  old  self.  '  I  am  an  advocate,  and  your  question 
was  a  legal  one.' 

'  Superb  !'  said  Jules  Gironde.  '  We  shall  be  excel- 
lent company.  Now  let  us  seek  the  kitchen.' 

They  found  it,  and  they  found  the  boy,  who  became 
a  mere  inert  mass  in  the  inside  of  two  minutes,  for  the 
Gascon  had  been  too  wise  to  leave  the  rope  behind. 
The  house  was  deserted. 

A  few  minutes  sufficed  to  start  a  conflagration  ; 
then,  removing  their  prisoner  to  a  safe  place,  they 
hurriedly  collected  a  few  provisions.  They  had  no 
time  to  look  for  arms,  although  it  was  probable  that 
every  man  had  left  the  village. 

'Tell  your  master,'  said  Gironde,  stooping  over 
the  boy,  '  that  I,  Jules  Gironde  of  Gascony,  shall  yet 
send  him  to  his  own  place.'  Then,  rising,  he  came 
solemnly  to  the  salute.  '  For  the  Emperor !'  said  he  ; 
and  with  Neil  Darroch  at  his  side  stole  down  the  slope 
to  the  nearest  cover. 

What  followed  was  to  be  remembered  by  Neil  all 
his  life,  for  no  man  can  be  hunted  well-nigh  to  the 
death  and  forget  it. 

It  was  not  long  before  they  discovered  that  they 
were  pursued,  were  indeed  being  tracked  by  some  of 
the  mongrel  dogs  which  prowl  about  the  garbage 
heaps  in  every  village  of  Corsica.  Their  only  satis- 
faction, as  they  hurried  along  a  sparsely- wooded 
mountain-side,  was  to  see  flames  shooting  up  behind 
them.  The  Villa  Olima,  despite  its  stone,  was  blazing 
briskly.  They  stood  a  moment  to  watch  it. 

'  Superb !'  exclaimed  Gironde.  '  Not  only  will 
Massoni  probably  keep  his  men  at  the  cliff  till 
Vezzani  is  well  charred,  but  think  of  the  faces  of 


192          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

those  who  have  exploited  the  passage.  There  will 
be  no  room  for  them  to  walk  into.  I  would  give  a 
third  ear,  if  I  had  one,  to  see  them.' 

He  chuckled  with  glee,  and  his  appearance  was  so 
comical  that  Neil  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh.  He  was 
beginning  to  enjoy,  and  therefore  to  like,  this  ragged 
little  scarecrow  with  whom  his  fortunes  had  become 
linked. 

'  En  avant !'  cried  the  Gascon,  and  on  they  ran  till 
away  in  the  distance  they  could  hear  the  barking  of 
the  village  curs. 

Gironde  seemed  full  of  resource.  He  would  return 
and  double  back  on  his  tracks.  He  would  make 
Neil  run  one  way,  and  run  another  himself.  At  last 
they  reached  a  steep  moss-lined  watercourse,  shaded 
by  giant  ferns  and  graceful  maidenhair,  from  under 
which  crawled  a  long  black  snake,  terrified  by  their 
approach.  At  sight  of  it,  Neil  thanked  his  stars 
that  his  clothes,  although  they  were  beginning  to 
suffer,  were  a  very  efficient  covering  compared  with 
his  companion's  fluttering  garments.  Gironde,  how- 
ever, laughed  at  him. 

'  If  that  were  all  the  danger,  we  would  do,'  he  said  ; 
c  but  we  should  baffle  the  dogs  here.' 

Events  proved  he  was  right. 

They  crawled  down  the  bed  of  the  stream,  and  the 
Gascon  suffered  torment  from  his  bruised  hands  as  he 
clung  to  roots  and  boulders  and  tufts  of  long  coarse 
grass. 

Eventually  they  quitted  the  rivulet  where  it  reached 
a  tiny  green  vale,  studded  with  the  choicest  blossoms, 
where  countless  bees  were  on  the  wing,  and  where 
gorgeous  butterflies  flitted  lazily  past.  They  would 
fain  have  rested,  but  it  was  not  to  be. 

All  day  they  travelled  amongst  enchanting  scenes, 
and  at  night  reached  a  bare  spot  high  up  upon  a 
mountain  spur.  It  was  cold,  but  sheltered  from  the 
wind,  and  both  were  so  exhausted  they  could  go  no 
further. 


THE  ESCAPE  193 

'  To-morrow,'  said  Gironde, '  we  will  shape  a  course. 
We  must  find  a  village,  and  risk  a  little.' 

'  I  know  nothing  of  the  island,'  answered  Neil. 
'  Where  do  you  propose  going  ?' 

'  To  me  it  is  a  matter  of  indifference.  My  duty 
is  to  find  the  Emperor,  whose  servant  I  have  the 
honour  to  be.' 

It  was  wonderful  how  his  face  brightened  whenever 
he  referred  to  Napoleon. 

'  Then,'  said  Neil,  '  we  must  head  to  the  east.' 

'  And  why  the  east  ?' 

'Because,  of  course — but  why,  you  do  not  know, 
to  be  sure.' 

'  Know  what  ?'  cried  the  other,  sitting  up. 

'  Know  that  Napoleon  is  in  Elba.' 

'  Elba  !'  shrieked  Gironde.  '  What  does  he  there  ? 
Impossible !  What  mean  you  ?' 

And  then  Neil  told  him.  His  agitation  was 
tremendous. 

'  Did  I  not  warn  him  long  ago  ?'  he  muttered,  and 
Neil  guessed  that  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes. 

'  You  ?' 

'Yes,  I.  You  see  in  me  the  soldier,  Jules  Gironde 
of  Gascony,  who  became — I  speak  without  boast — 
the  most  trusted,  the  most  famous,  of  the  secret 
service.  You  marvel  that  the  Emperor  had  any  work 
for  one  like  me.  Is  it  not  so  ?  I  see  it  is.  But, 
monsieur,  you  are  mistaken.  There  was  a  time  when 
Jules  Gironde  was  a  man  worth  knowing.  My  duty 
was  to  capture  this  Carlo  Massoni.  I  did  so,  but  his 
friends  caught  me.  The  Corsican  is  cunning,  as  I 
should  have  known,  for  is  not  Napoleon  of  Ajaccio  ? 
There  is  a  pretty  fashion  of  letter-writing  in  these 
parts.  Voila  !'  He  touched  the  places  where  his  ears 
had  been.  '  No  doubt  many  think  me  dead ;  but  the 
Emperor  is  wise.  He  said  to  himself:  "This  is  not 
Jules  Gironde's  head — his  right  ear,  his  left  ear,  but 
not  his  head.  Therefore  he  lives,  and  has  not  returned. 
That  is  because  he  has  found  work  to  do  for  me.  He 
13 


194          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

will  come  in  due  time,  for  he  has  never  failed  me." 
You  see,  monsieur,  the  Emperor  was  right/ 

Neil  devoutly  hoped  so,  for  he  was  as  anxious  as 
Gironde  to  be  quit  of  Corsica. 

There  is  no  need  to  recount  in  detail  all  that  befell 
them.  It  was  a  series  of  escapes,  one  very  much  like 
the  other,  though  Massoni  himself  had  to  be  careful  as 
soon  as  he  and  his  band  left  the  district,  which  was 
more  or  less  under  his  control.  This  alone  saved  the 
two  men  who  had  tricked  him. !  Gironde  proved 
himself  a  skilled  forager.  Woe  betide  the  chicken 
which  strayed  anywhere  near  him.  There  was  fruit 
to  be  had  for  the  stealing — luscious  thick-skinned 
oranges,  juicy  green  figs  and  tiny  plums.  They  were 
in  an  enemy's  country,  and  Jules  regarded  it  as  an 
article  of  war. 

Once,  indeed,  they  were  driven  back  upon  Monte 
Rotondo,  and  were  in  danger  of  actual  starvation, 
when  Gironde,  who  had  secured  a  musket  and  a 
supply  of  ammunition,  managed  to  stalk  and  bring 
down  a  young  moufflon,  one  of  those  long-haired 
mountain  sheep,  now  rarely  seen,  but  then  fairly 
plentiful  on  the  higher  ranges.  They  hid  in  the 
lair  of  the  boar  and  the  wild  deer  and  amongst  the 
dense  macchie.  They  found  friends  in  the  rude 
charcoal-burners  of  the  great  fir-forests. 

Then  it  was  that  Neil  told  the  Gascon  all  that  he 
could  tell  him  about  the  past  five  years  of  French 
history,  and  listened  to  his  lamentations.  The 
Gascon  was  as  emotional  as  a  woman.  He  wept 
over  Moscow  and  the  fate  of  the  great  army,  he  cried 
down  bitter  curses  on  those  whom  he  imagined  had 
tricked  and  deserted  the  Emperor.  To  hear  him 
speak,  one  would  have  thought  he  could  have  pre- 
vented Napoleon's  downfall,  and  beaten  back  the 
Allies  from  the  very  gates  of  Paris.  Neil  had  been 
deeply  interested  in  all  that  had  passed  in  Europe 
during  that  stirring  period.  Naturally  he  was  most 
conversant  with  Wellington's  brilliant  victories  in  the 


THE  ESCAPE  195 

Peninsula,  and  it  was  a  new  thing  for  him  to  hear  the 
names  Badajos,  Albuera  and  Vittoria  greeted  by  every 
sign  of  grief  and  dismay.  To  him  the  Gascon's 
extravagant  sorrow  appeared  at  first  ridiculous,  but 
as  he  looked  at  the  little  man's  disfigured  face,  his 
tattered  clothes  and  half-starved  body,  he  was  moved 
to  a  profound  pity.  He  felt  that  his  own  life  had 
been  selfish  and  colourless  compared  with  that  of  this 
dauntless  enthusiast  who  never  tired  of  recounting 
episodes  from  his  own  eventful  existence.  He  had 
served  in  Egypt  when  Napoleon  was  but  a  general, 
had  followed  the  First  Consul,  and  as  a  soldier  had 
hailed  the  Emperor,  but  being  possessed  of  a  great 
natural  talent  for  acquiring  languages,  he  had  de- 
veloped it  on  every  occasion,  and  had  exchanged  the 
sword  for  the  passport,  the  game  of  war  for  the  still 
more  dangerous  game  of  the  secret  service.  He  had 
been  here,  there,  and  everywhere.  His  account  of  peril 
and  adventure  made  Neil  forget  his  own  projects ;  his 
enthusiasm  for  his  master  fired  even  Neil  Darroch's 
cool  and  calculating  spirit.  This  maimed,  tear-shed- 
ding Gascon  had  something  noble  about  him.  Not  a 
single  complaint  as  to  himself  passed  his  lips.  His 
only  grievance  was  that  he  had  not  been  with  the 
Emperor  at  his  fall. 

'  But  I  shall  be  with  him  when  he  re-enters  Paris  ! 
Jules  Gironde  will  be  there  if  the  good  God  will  it/  he 
cried.  '  The  fools,  the  blind  fools,  to  put  such  a  man 
on  such  an  island !  Pouf !  he  can  smell  the  flowers 
of  Corsica  there  ;  he  can  almost  see  France  ;  he  is 
but  a  step  from  Italy.  Ha  !  ha  !  monsieur,  he  will  be 
at  the  old  game  soon,  and  the  Bourbon  scuttling  off 
like  a  chivied  cat.  "Jules  Gironde,"  he  will  say,  "  it 
is  time  we  were  up  and  doing.  You  have  been  idle 
for  five  years,  I  for  six  months.  It  is  too  long,  my 
friend  ;  we  must  pay  our  debts,  and  we  shall  pay  them 
together.'" 

Neil  only  smiled  grimly,  yet  he  had  half  resolved 
to  accompany  his  queer  bed-fellow  to  Elba,  and  almost 
13—2 


196          VENGEANCE   IS  MINE 

regarded  himself  as  an  adherent  of  the  man  who  was 
eating  out  his  mighty  heart  twenty  miles  away  across 
the  stretch  of  smiling,  sunlit  sea  which  separated  the 
eastern  coast  of  Corsica  from  the  Tuscan  island. 

So  friendly  did  they  become  that  Neil's  reserve 
broke  down,  and  he  confided  in  Jules  Gironde.  He 
told  him  of  Geoffrey's  treachery,  and  all  the  events 
which  led  up  to  their  meeting,  but  not  a  word  of  Kate 
Ingleby  passed  his  lips.  It  would  have  been  well  for 
him,  ay,  and  for  Gironde,  had  his  tale  been  complete. 

The  vivacious  Jules  had  been  greatly  delighted. 

'Your  surprising  confidences  are  safe  with  me, 
monsieur,'  said  he  with  a  ludicrous  air  of  politeness ; 
'  but  I  venture  to  give  you  some  good  advice.' 

'  Which  is  ?' 

'That  you  shake  the  dust  of  your  cold  island  from 
your  feet  and  come  with  me  to  serve  the  only  man 
worth  serving.  What  will  the  Emperor  say  when  he 
sees  me  ?  "  Jules  Gironde,"  he  will  say,  "  you  have 
returned,  as  I  knew  you  would,  and  you  have  brought 
with  you  a  prisoner."  "  Pardon,  sire,"  I  will  answer, 
"  he  is  something  better  than  a  prisoner."  "  Then,  my 
friend,  he  is  a  faithful  servant  like  yourself,"  the 
Emperor  will  reply,  and  tap  me  on  the  shoulder,  so.' 
What!  you  smile,  monsieur;  you  are  willing?' 

'  Time  will  show,'  said  Neil.  '  As  we  say  in  Scot- 
land, it  is  a  far  cry  to  Elba.' 

'  A  far  cry,  c'est  vrai,  but  a  short  sail,'  said  Jules 
Gironde. 

Eventually  they  reached  the  coast,  and  found 
shelter  in  the  hollow  of  a  dry  watercourse  on  the 
steep,  rugged  slopes  of  the  Montagna  Serra  to  the 
north  of  the  town  of  Bastia. 

Gironde  had  grown  quite  fat,  and  with  his  stoutness 
his  audacity  increased.  Nothing  would  please  him 
but  that  he  should  steal  into  Bastia  at  night,  and 
find  out  what  was  occurring.  He  returned  in  a  state 
of  intense  excitement. 

'  Great  news !'  he  cried.     '  We  have  now,'  he  added 


THE  ESCAPE  197 

proudly,  '  not  only  to  contend  with  these  rascals,  but 
with  the  governor  of  Corsica  himself,  and  all  the 
powers  that  be.' 

'  The  deuce  we  have  !'  said  Neil  Darroch.  '  And  is 
that  a  cause  for  jubilation  ?' 

'  It  is  a  reason  for  quitting  this  accursed  spot  as 
soon  as  may  be — not  for  our  own  safety  only,  but  for 
that  of  France.' 

Neil  was  becoming  used  to  the  little  man's  extrava- 
gant ideas,  and  only  smiled. 

'  You  smile,  monsieur !'  he  cried  ;  '  you  well  may, 
for  it  will  be  our  lot — yes,  yours  and  mine — to  convey 
to  the  Emperor  tidings  of  the  utmost  importance. 
This  Bruslart,  the  governor,  is  a  wily  fox,  and  as 
ambitious  as  he  is  cunning.  He  has  conceived  the 
notion  of  capturing  Napoleon,  and  holding  him  for 
ransom.  Yes,  and  he  might  do  it,  for  it  would  not  be 
difficult ;  but  then,  he  has  forgotten  something.' 

'  Indeed  !'  said  Neil,  half  guessing  what  was  coming. 

'  Yes,  my  friend,  he  has  forgotten  Jules  Gironde.' 

The  Frenchman  had  spoken  the  truth  when  he 
mentioned  the  plot  against  Napoleon.  Bruslart,  an 
unscrupulous  but  daring  man,  was  even  then  con- 
sidering how  he  might  best  entrap  the  Emperor,  and 
serve  his  own  ends.  He  was  not  the  only  one  to 
whom  such  a  scheme  commended  itself.  The 
dreaded  Barbary  pirates  at  a  later  period  formed  a 
similar  project,  which,  like  that  of  Bruslart,  never 
came  to  maturity. 

Gironde  had  certainly  made  the  most  of  his  oppor- 
tunities. In  addition  to  his  other  discoveries,  he  had 
exploited  the  harbour  and  found  a  boat,  which  from 
its  position  could  be  easily  seized,  and  in  which  they 
might  escape  unseen  if  fortune  favoured  them.  He 
insisted,  however,  that  they  must  wait  for  a  calm 
night  and  a  suitable  wind,  and  Neil,  though  consumed 
with  impatience,  saw  the  wisdom  of  such  a  course. 
He  feared  that  fresh  dangers  might  await  him  at 
Elba  if  the  Undaunted  was  still  lying  in  the  road';  ; 


198          VENGEANCE   IS  MINE 

but  anything  was  better  than  this  inaction,  and  he 
was  heartily  sick  of  coarse,  ill-cooked  food,  his 
wretched  clothes,  and  uncomfortable  bed  of  brush- 
wood. 

There  would  have  been  much  less  difficulty  in 
getting  out  of  Corsica  if  Gironde  had  come  across  a 
boat  on  the  beach,  but,  as  he  said  : 

'  These  Italian  dogs  are  lazy  rogues.  They  might 
have  fish  for  the  catching,  but  not  one  of  them  will 
lift  an  oar,  and  not  a  keel  did  I  see  between  here 
and  Bastia,  though  there  are  two  villages  on  the 
shore.' 

It  was  a  good  thing  for  them  that  they  soon  got  a 
night  fitted  in  every  way  for  their  adventure.  A  long 
delay  must  have  meant  discovery,  as  Massoni  had 
told  his  story  to  the  governor,  and  he  was  as  anxious 
as  were  the  bandits  to  lay  hands  on  Jules  Gironde, 
dead  or  alive.  As  it  was,  a  bold  stroke  paid,  as  it  so 
often  does,  and  on  a  dark  morning,  with  the  wind 
from  the  south-west,  the  Gascon  and  Neil  Darroch 
slipped  warily  out  of  the  harbour  of  Bastia,  and  laid 
their  boat's  bow  for  Elba.  Their  escapade  had  been 
wonderfully  free  from  danger.  Curs  had  barked  at 
them  as  they  stole  past  the  shingle-roofed  houses  in 
the  dirty,  mean-looking  villages,  but  they  had  not 
been  challenged  by  a  soul.  Neil's  spirits  rose  as 
they  swung  along  the  open  road,  the  black  hillside 
climbing  up  from  it  on  one  hand,  on  the  other  the 
sea  murmuring  a  lullaby  far  below,  the  soft  air  laden 
with  fragrant  odours  from  the  strips  of  meadow,  and 
the  clustering  groves  and  vine-terraces. 

The  town,  with  its  tall  buildings  and  narrow  streets, 
lay  for  the  most  part  to  the  south  of  the  harbour,  and 
the  guard  were  busy  with  vin  ordinaire  in  the  Customs 
shed. 

Neil  had  to  repeat  his  swim,  for  Gironde  with  all 
his  accomplishments  could  not  manage  a  dozen 
strokes  ;  and  once  in  the  boat,  he  muffled  the  oars 
with  bits  of  his  nether  garments,  severed  her  rope 


THE  ESCAPE  199 

with  his  knife,  and  pulled  gently  ashore.  The  Gascon, 
after  bowing  ironically  to  the  dark  mass  with  here 
and  there  a  twinkling  light,  which  was  all  they  could 
see  of  Corsica,  stepped  aboard,  and  surely  never  in 
its  history  did  two  stranger  figures  round  the  end  of 
the  breakwater  which  guards  the  quaint  and  stone- 
girt  harbour  of  the  island's  seaport. 

Once  again  Neil  Darroch  saw  the  rosy  dawn  touch 
the  long  line  of  the  Montagna  Serra,  and  turn  to  gold 
the  winter's  snow  on  the  inland  peaks.  Once  again 
he  watched  the  night  shadows  quit  the  island  chain 
to  the  eastward,  from  Capraya,  famed  of  old,  past 
Elba,  whose  fame  was  in  process  of  making,  past 
little  Pianosa,  to  the  distant  granite  cone  of  Monte 
Cristo,  which  was  yet  to  be  the  most  famous  of  the 
four,  thanks  to  a  wizard's  pen. 

Away  astern,  however,  there  was  a  sight  not  so 
pleasant — a  polacre  clearing  out  from  Bastia,  her 
triangular  sail  a  white  dot  against  the  shore.  She 
was  fully  five  miles  to  the  rear,  but  Jules  Gironde 
apparently  had  no  doubts  as  to  her  intentions. 

'  Yonder  they  come,'  said  he.  '  How  many  of  them 
will  go  back,  think  you  ?' 

'Time  will  show,'  said  Neil,  who  was  busy  changing 
his  clothes.  He  had  found  a  fisherman's  outfit  in  a 
locker  forward,  and  was  glad  to  get  rid  of  his  torn  and 
filthy  costume. 

'  Ah,  the  philosopher  speaks,'  chuckled  the  Gascon, 
beaming  his  approval.  '  Perhaps  there  will  be  no 
more  time  for  some  of  these  rascals,  only  eternity.' 

He  laughed  gaily  at  his  little  joke,  and  patted  his 
musket  lovingly. 

'There  is  another  suit  here,'  said  Neil.  '  You  had 
better  make  use  of  it' 

Jules  Gironde  shook  his  head. 

'  Is  it  likely  that  we  gain  the  island  before  they 
reach  us  ?'  he  asked. 

'  I  think  not,'  said  Neil,  measuring  with  his  eye 
the  distance  between  the  boat's  bow  and  the  lofty 


200          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

cliffs  ahead,  and  that  between  the  boat's  stern  and 
her  pursuer,  whose  sail  was  growing  perceptibly 
larger. 

'  Then,  why  spoil  a  good  set  of  clothes  ?'  said 
Gironde  dryly,  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

Neil  Darroch  laughed  uneasily.  He  could  not  take 
matters  with  the  cool  nonchalance  of  the  old  soldier. 
His  training  had  been  entirely  different,  and  he  knew 
that  if  it  came  to  a  fight  his  would  be  the  hardest 
task,  as  he  could  do  nothing  till  it  was  a  case  of  close 
quarters,  which  might  never  be. 

Gironde,  on  the  other  hand,  whistled  a  tune  to 
himself,  cleaned  out  his  gun  and  reloaded,  and  then 
laid  the  weapon  aside,  speaking  to  it  as  if  it  had  been 
a  living  thing.  The  boat  scarcely  needed  any  man- 
agement, for  the  breeze  was  falling.  Neil  took  his 
turn  at  steering,  and  the  Gascon  lay  down  in  the 
bows. 

Suddenly  he  gave  a  cry  and  jumped  to  his  feet, 
pointing  straight  in  front  of  him. 

'  What  is  it  ?'  Neil  called  out. 

'  There,  in  the  shadow  of  the  land,  is  there  not 
something  ?  My  sight  is  not  what  it  was,  but  surely 
something  moves  !  Yes,  it  is  a  ship.  Par  Dieu  !  we 
shall  trick  them  yet !' 

Neil  kept  the  boat  away  a  little,  and  then  saw  what 
was  exciting  his  companion.  A  couple  of  leagues 
ahead  lay  the  western  coast  of  Elba,  black,  lofty,  and 
precipitous,  and  amongst  the  dark  shadows  which 
stretched  out  from  it  across  the  water  there  crept  a 
brig,  a  mere  brown  blur,  stealing  lazily  along  close 
in  shore  under  easy  sail.  Could  they  but  attract 
the  attention  of  her  crew,  there  might  yet  be  a  chance 
of  safety. 

The  boat  swished  lightly  through  the  sea,  running 
merrily  enough,  but  her  ropes  no  longer  twanged  like 
taut  wires,  and  her  canvas  shivered  now  and  then. 
The  polacre  had  the  tail  of  the  breeze,  and  they 
watched  her  til!  her  hull  showed. 


THE  ESCAPE  201 

Knot  after  knot  slipped  past  under  both  keels,  and 
Corsica  loomed  a  mere  mass  of  glittering  peaks  a 
score  of  miles  away,  while  Elba  rose  steep  and  mas- 
sive before  them,  and  they  could  see  the  white  walls 
of  houses  and  mark  the  outline  of  the  coast.  The 
brig  was  well-nigh  becalmed,  and  Neil  headed  for 
her,  while  Gironde  kept  up  a  ceaseless  jabber,  and 
now  and  then  shouted  defiantly  at  their  pursuers. 

They  were  still  two  miles  from  the  brig  when  the 
wind  failed  utterly.  They  lowered  sail ;  so  did  the 
polacre.  Neil  of  his  own  accord  settled  himself  at 
the  oars,  and  almost  at  the  same  moment  a  line  of 
silver  flashed  along  each  side  of  the  polacre. 

'  They  have  sweeps,  my  friend,'  cried  the  Gascon, 
and  sat  down  very  contentedly  in  the  stern.  'This 
good  gun,'  said  he,  '  sends  a  ball  one  hundred  yards, 
and  I  was  accounted  the  best  shot  in  the  old  Thirty- 
Second  when  in  Egypt.' 

Neil  Darroch  had  no  time  to  answer.  He  was 
exerting  himself  to  the  uttermost,  and  the  small  boat 
sprang  forward  at  each  stroke,  the  water  bubbling 
round  her  bows,  and  streaming  in  curling  eddies  from 
the  oar  blades. 

Jules  Gironde  cheered  himself  hoarse,  shouted 
encouragement,  and  several  times  stood  up  and 
shook  his  fist  at  the  long  black  craft  which  came  rush- 
ing steadily  upon  their  track,  nearer  and  nearer,  till 
they  could  see  the  men  aboard  her. 

The  strain  was  terrible.  Neil's  veins  stood  out  like 
blue  and  knotted  cords  upon  his  forehead,  his  arms 
felt  like  steel  bands  about  to  burst  asunder,  he  pulled 
like  an  automaton,  swinging  backwards  and  forwards 
like  a  machine.  His  breath  came  in  great  sobbing 
gasps,  but  he  never  halted,  never  paused. 

'  Pour  1'Empereur  !'  yelled  the  Gascon.  '  The  brig 
has  cannon,  and  we  near  her.  Pull,  for  God's  sake 
pull !  She  is  French — perhaps  a  Bourbon,'  he  shouted 
a  moment  later ;  '  but  anything  is  better  than  those 
devils  behind.  Remember,  it  means  your  ears  at 


202          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

least.  Bravo,  my  friend  !  The  Emperor  shall  hear  of 
this.  He  will  say — pouf !' 

His  last  exclamation  was  in  answer  to  a  bullet 
from  the  polacre,  which  raised  a  jet  of  spray  yards 
in  their  rear.  Following  it  there  came  a  hail,  a  sum- 
mons to  surrender. 

Gironde's  answer  may  not  be  printed.  He  was 
scarcely  responsible  at  such  a  time.  It  was  replied 
to  by  a  volley  of  musketry,  which  did  no  harm, 

'  Ta,  ta,  ta !'  said  the  little  man  impatiently  ;  '  there 
is  too  much  noise  all  on  one  side.  Monsieur  is  too 
inquisitive,'  he  continued,  taking  sights  at  a  head 
just  beside  the  root  of  the  bowsprit.  There  was  a 
bang  and  the  head  vanished.  '  He  has  learned  the 
same  lesson  as  did  our  friend  the  moufflon,'  said 
Jules  Gironde,  and  rammed  another  pellet  down  the 
barrel. 

He  looked  round  and  faced  about  with  a  glitter  in 
his  weakened  eyes.  It  had  come  to  the  pinch,  and 
all  his  effervescence  vanished. 

Neil  Darroch's  strength  was  failing  him.  He  was 
soaking  with  sweat,  strained,  and  almost  spent.  Still 
he  laboured  on,  seeing  nothing,  hearing  nothing,  till 
the  boom  of  a  heavy  gun  brought  him  to  his  senses. 
He  looked  dully  about  him.  The  polacre  had  turned 
tail,  and  was  racing  for  dear  life.  Gironde  was 
blaspheming  and  praying  by  turns,  and  a  few  hundred 
yards  away  lay  a  graceful  brig,  a  cloud  of  blue  smoke 
drifting  from  her  side,  and  a  crowd  of  men  lining  her 
bulwarks.  Neil  Darroch  made  a  futile  effort  at  a 
cheer,  and  collapsed  into  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 

He  had  somewhat  revived  by  the  time  his  com- 
panion had  placed  them  alongside  the  vessel  which  had 
come  so  opportunely  to  their  aid.  As  Jules  Gironde 
did  so  there  was  a  murmur  as  of  pity,  and  then 
a  roar  of  laughter.  The  Gascon  was  on  his  legs, 
flourishing  his  ancient  head-piece  and  bowing  this 
way  and  that  with  the  utmost  gravity,  as  if  wholly 
unconscious  of  his  dilapidated  breeches,  his  burst 


THE  ESCAPE  203 

shoes,  and  his  well-ventilated  jacket.  A  rope  ladder 
was  sent  down  the  side,  and  Gironde  promptly 
mounted,  followed  by  Neil  Darroch,  whose  muscles 
were  trembling  with  fatigue,  but  he  made  a  great 
effort  to  hold  himself  erect  and  dignified  as  he  gained 
the  deck. 

The  brig  appeared  to  be  a  ship  of  war.  Half  the 
men  aboard  her  were  in  some  sort  of  uniform,  though 
they  looked  slovenly  and  untidy.  The  Gascon,  Neil 
noticed,  was  standing  staring  at  them  open-mouthed, 
while  they,  for  their  part,  crowded  round  the  strange 
pair  of  fugitives. 

'  What  is  this  ?'  cried  the  Frenchman  all  at  once. 
'  Who  are  you,  my  friends  ?  I  see  here  grenadiers 
of  the  guard,  chasseurs,  men  of  the  artillery.  What 
does  it  mean  ?  Are  you  ghosts  ?  Is  this  a  phantom 
ship  ?' 

A  shout  of  merriment  answered  him. 

'Fair  playj'  cried  a  voice.  'You  are  the  visitor, 
Monsieur  1'Epouvantail ;  we  shall  ask  your  name 
first.' 

'  And  I  am  not  ashamed  to  give  it,  though  you 
seem  ashamed  to  show  your  ugly  face.  Have  you 
ever  heard  of  Jules  Gironde  ?' 

1  Gironde !'  echoed  a  chorus  of  voices — '  Gironde 
the  spy  ?' 

'Yes,  my  friends — Gironde  of  the  secret  service,' 
answered  the  Gascon,  visibly  swelling  with  pride. 
'  I  am  he  !' 

'  But  your  ears,  monsieur  ?'  queried  a  very  trim 
fellow  in  the  front. 

'  Have  been  where  you  would  not  dare  to  show 
your  nose,'  snapped  Jules  Gironde,  letting  the  butt 
of  his  musket  fall  heavily  on  the  other's  toes,  and 
joining  in  the  roar  which  followed. 

'And  this  great  fellow?'  cried  another. 

'  Is  worth  two  of  you,  mon  brave.' 

Neil  was  fairly  bewildered  by  the  rattle  of  their 
tongues,  and  stood  staring  at  the  bronzed,  hairy  faces 


204          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

about  him,  till  a  tall  man  came  pushing  through  the 
crowd. 

A  great  grin  spread  over  his  face  as  he  caught 
sight  of  the  two  adventurers,  but  he  swallowed  it 
somehow. 

'  These  men  are  wanted  aft,'  he  said.  '  Follow  me, 
messieurs,  if  you  please.' 

Amidst  a  buzz  of  talk  he  led  the  way  towards  the 
quarter-deck  ;  but  no  sooner  was  Jules  Gironde  free 
of  the  throng  on  the  main-deck  than  he  gave  a  cry  of 
astonishment  and  stood  still,  pointing  in  front  of  him, 
his  lips  working,  his  eyes  blinking,  and  his  whole  face 
full  of  a  wondering  delight. 

1  It  is  he — yes,  it  is  he !'  murmured  the  Gascon. 

Neil  Darroch  followed  his  gaze.  There  were  three 
men  standing  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  which  led  to 
the  poop,  but  he  had  eyes  only  for  the  one  in  the 
middle,  the  shortest  of  the  trio.  This  man,  a  man 
with  very  square,  broad  shoulders,  wore  also  the 
plainest  dress.  He  had  on  an  odd,  three-cornered 
cocked  hat,  a  green  coat  faced  with  a  dirty  white, 
and  buttoned  very  tightly  across  his  chest.  Where 
it  fell  away  on  either  side  his  paunch  protruded, 
covered  by  a  close-fitting  Kerseymere  waistcoat,  and 
his  legs  were  cased  in  breeches  of  the  same  material 
and  white  cotton  stockings,  all  with  scarce  a  single 
wrinkle.  There  was  something  smooth  and  rounded 
and  placid  in  his  appearance  ;  and  as  they  approached 
nearer  him,  Neil  saw  that  his  face  was  absolutely 
clean  shaven  and  very  fat,  but  not  of  that  unpleasant 
stoutness  which  shows  itself  in  loose-hanging  masses 
of  adipose  tissue.  It  was  firm  and  smooth,  the  skin 
coarse  and  weather-beaten,  the  features  clearly  not 
so  handsome  as  they  had  been.  He  appeared  in  a 
very  good  humour,  and  as  he  smiled  displayed  an 
excellent  set  of  teeth,  and,  reaching  up,  tapped  one 
of  his  companions  on  the  shoulder,  and  ?aid  some- 
thing to  him  which  made  him  laugh  immoderately. 
Then  he  put  his  hands  behind  his  back  and  stood 


THE  ESCAPE  205 

erect  and  passive,  and  for  the  first  time,  as  his  eyes 
met  Neil  Darroch's,  the  latter  understood  what  was 
meant  by  a  penetrating  gaze,  and  felt  strangely 
uncomfortable.  Apart  from  Gironde's  exclamation, 
he  knew  instinctively  that  he  stood  in  the  presence  of 
the  greatest  man  of  his  age. 

The  chief  feeling  which  possessed  him  was  an 
intense  curiosity.  He  could  not  keep  his  eyes  off 
the  plump  figure  and  set  face  of  the  late  Emperor  of 
the  French.  This  was  the  genius  whose  shadow  had 
lain  across  Europe,  from  Connaught  to  the  Caucasus, 
from  Archangel  to  Gibraltar,  Sicily,  and  the  Archi- 
pelago, for  five-and-twenty  years,  who  had  conquered 
in  the  country  of  the  Pyramids,  who  had  defied  the 
Sphinx  of  the  desert,  who  had  tasted  victory  and 
defeat  in  the  Holy  Land  itself.  He  was  but  a  name 
in  Britain — a  name  dreaded  and  hated,  but  a  name 
only,  thanks  to  a  silver  streak  of  sea. 

Now  Neil  Darroch,  who  had  read  of  him  and 
marvelled  at  his  deeds,  and  been  ready  more  than 
once  to  carry  a  musket  against  him  and  his  threaten- 
ing hordes,  saw  him  in  the  flesh,  a  prisoner,  a  petty 
king,  a  fallen  star.  The  brig  was  the  Inconstant,  and 
Napoleon  had  been  surveying  his  little  island,  visiting 
its  ancient  iron  mines,  accompanied  by  his  faithful 
Bertrand  and  Colonel  Campbell,  and  was  now  return- 
ing to  his  new  capital.  This  incident  was  to  his 
taste.  Anything  was  welcome  which  could  divert 
the  backward  current  of  his  thoughts. 

Neil  Darroch  was  about  to  bow  when  he  remem- 
bered his  costume  and  the  rdle  he  had  assumed.  He 
stood  in  a  respectful  attitude,  waiting  eagerly  to  hear 
the  Emperor's  voice,  and  watching  his  every  move- 
ment. 

As  for  Jules  Gironde,  as  soon  as  he  recovered  from 
his  surprise  he  became  a  different  being.  His  slouch 
and  careless  lounge  vanished  ;  he  held  up  his  head, 
braced  back  his  shoulders,  and  marched  at  a  regula- 
tion pace,  with  his  musket  tucked  into  the  hollow  of 


206         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

his  shoulder.  As  they  halted  he  came  to  the  salute, 
and,  standing  thus,  looked  more  ludicrous  than  ever. 

Buonaparte  motioned  their  conductor  to  stand 
aside,  and  a  smile  flickered  for  a  moment  about  his 
lips  as  he  surveyed  the  two  men  at  a  distance  of  a 
few  feet.  Suddenly  a  change  came  over  his  face. 
He  thrust  his  head  forward,  wrinkled  his  brows,  and 
stared  intensely  at  the  Gascon. 

'  Your  name  ?'  he  asked  sharply. 

Gironde  did  not  reply,  but  Neil  saw  him  make  a 
curious  movement  with  the  fingers  of  his  left  hand. 

Again  the  ghost  of  a  smile  played  about  the 
corners  of  Napoleon's  mouth. 

'  A  moment,'  he  said  quickly,  as  if  to  prevent 
Gironde  speaking.  '  Ah  !  now  I  know  that  face — the 
face  of  a  brave  man  and  an  old  servant,  one  who 
has  suffered  for  France.' 

The  Gascon  made  no  effort  to  hide  his  scars,  but 
a  great  tear  rolled  down  either  cheek.  He  saluted 
again. 

'  For  France  and  the  Emperor,'  he  said. 

The  man  on  Napoleon's  right,  a  big-boned  man 
with  a  thin,  fresh-coloured  face  and  a  patch  of 
whisker  in  front  of  each  ear,  listened  stolidly.  The 
other,  who  had  an  honest  open  countenance,  a  large 
mouth,  and  a  fine  figure,  slapped  his  thigh  and  nodded 
approvingly.  Napoleon  returned  the  salute. 

'Jules  Gironde,'  said  he,  and  there  was  a  touch  of 
sadness  in  his  voice,  'the  day  is  past  when  I  might 
reward  you  as  you  deserve,  but  you  have  my  thanks, 
for  I  know  you  have  done  your  duty.  Would  that  I 
could  say  the  same  of  all.' 

His  face  darkened  and  grew  angry,  but  the  frown 
passed  in  a  moment. 

'  You  were  in  Egypt  ?' 

'  Yes,  sire.' 

'At  the  Battle  of  Nazareth  you  gained  your 
stripes  ?' 

'  Yes,  sire.1 


THE  ESCAPE  207 

*  Since  then  you  have  served  me — where  ?' 

*  In  Spain,  Italy,  Prussia,  Austria,  the  Netherlands 
and  England.' 

'  And  lastly  in  Corsica  ?' 

'  In  Corsica,  sire.' 

'  Where  you  lost  your  ears  ?' 

Gironde  saluted. 

'  Never  was  man  better  served  than  I  have  been — 
by  some — by  some,'  said  the  Emperor  significantly, 
pressing  Bertrand's  arm  kindly. 

'  And  who  are  you  ?'  he  asked,  shifting  his  glance 
to  Neil. 

'  My  name  is  Noel  Deschamps.' 

'  Deschamps !  Deschamps  !  I  seem  to  know  that 
name,  but  no  matter.  And  what  may  you  be,  sir  ?  It 
is  clear  you  are  not  a  fisherman  :  you  are  tall  enough 
for  a  grenadier.' 

'  I  am  a  lawyer  by  profession.' 

'  A  lawyer !  That  is  bad,  sir,  that  is  bad  ;  we  must 
find  something  more  useful  for  you  to  do.  Jules 
Gironde,  is  this  long  fellow  a  friend  of  yours  ?' 

'  He  is  a  brother  in  arms,  sire.' 

'  Good ;  we  will  hear  your  story  in  an  hour  from 
now,  if,'  he  added,  wheeling  round  and  facing  the 
British  Commissary,  'that  suits  your  convenience, 
monsieur.' 

Colonel  Campbell  flushed.  He  merely  bowed,  and 
Napoleon,  turning  on  his  heel,  walked  slowly  aft, 
while  Neil  Darroch  and  the  Gascon  were  instantly 
surrounded  by  a  mob  of  excited  men,  each  more 
anxious  than  the  other  to  show  them  some  attention. 

Neil  Darroch,  however,  was  too  busy  thinking  of 
other  things  to  trouble  his  head  about  them,  and  let 
their  questions  pass  unanswered.  He  saw  now  why 
Jules  Gironde  had  no  wish  to  change  his  clothes. 
The  man  loved  a  scene.  He  was  an  actor  in  a  small 
way.  But  Neil  Darroch  had  heard  his  story  before, 
and  recognised  that  the  man  with  whom  he  had  been 
face  to  face,  the  man  with  the  keen  blue  eyes  and  the 


208          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

harsh,  metallic  voice,  was  an  actor  also,  one  of  the 
most  accomplished  the  world  has  ever  seen. 

Jules  Gironde  alone  was  summoned  to  the  cabin 
an  hour  later.  When  he  returned  he  plucked  Neil 
Darroch's  sleeve  and  beckoned  hirn  to  follow.  As 
soon  as  they  were  alone  and  unobserved  he  cut  a 
little  caper  upon  the  planks. 

4  My  friend,'  said  he,  '  you  may  yet  hold  a  marshal's 
baton,  and  I — I  may  be  a  prince.' 

'  What  do  you  mean  ?'  asked  Neil. 

'  Mark  me,'  said  the  Gascon,  tapping  his  comrade 
on  the  chest  with  each  word  he  uttered,  '  the  Emperor 
has  not  said  a  word,  has  not  whispered  a  syllable,  but 
I  would  wager  a  third  ear,  if  I  had  one,  that  he  will 
be  in  Paris  before  either  of  us  are  gray-headed.  And 
then  nous  verrons !' 


CHAPTER  IV. 
'  VIVE  L'EMPEREUR  !' 

JULES  GIRONDE  was  in  his  element.     He  was 
in  his  beloved  Paris ;  he  had  a  glass  of  his 
favourite  Rhenish  at  his  elbow,  an  appreciative 
audience,  and  a  great  topic — the  doings  of  his 
master  and  himself.     With  but  few  exceptions  those 
who  listened  to  his  account  of  the  Emperor's  audacious 
and  bloodless  march  on  the  capital  were  at  one  with 
him  in  admiration  of  the  great  stroke  for  liberty  and 
power,  and  still  more  of  the  head  which  planned  it 
and  carried  it  to  a  triumphant  conclusion. 

On  the  outskirts  of  the  little  crowd  seated  in  the 
cafe  Guerraz  of  the  Rue  du  Bac  there  was,  however, 
one  man  in  whom  the  Gascon's  vivid  and  flattering 
narration  roused  no  enthusiasm.  Strange  to  say,  he 
was  also  the  only  man  present  who  could  contradict 
or  confirm  Gironde's  statements  with  authority,  for 
he  had  seen  all,  or  nearly  all,  the  events  on  which 


'VIVE  L'EMPEREUR!'  209 

the  spy  dilated,  and  was  himself  included  in  the  tale. 
The  man  was  Neil  Darroch.  He  was  much  changed. 
There  was  an  air  of  listlessness  about  him ;  his  face 
had  acquired  an  unpleasant  expression,  half-cynical, 
half-scornful.  It  was  the  face  of  a  man  who  was 
not  at  peace  either  with  himself  or  the  world.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  the  face  of  a  man  whose 
ideals  had  been  shattered,  whose  ambition  had  been 
thwarted,  and  who  had  even  relinquished  his  thirst 
for  vengeance. 

Things  had  not  gone  well  with  him  at  first. 
Anxiety,  exposure,  and  fatigue  brought  on  ill-health; 
a  low,  languishing  fever  gripped  him  at  Porto  Ferrajo, 
and  made  an  invalid  of  him  all  through  the  hot 
summer  and  the  autumn.  Had  it  not  been  for  the 
cheery  Jules  he  might  have  left  his  bones  in  Elba, 
uncared  for,  scarcely  missed.  But  though  he  found 
a  true  friend  in  the  little  Gascon,  he  discovered  that 
he  himself  had  neither  the  tastes  nor  the  instincts  of 
a  Frenchman.  He  could  admire  the  good-nature 
and  burning  zeal  of  the  exiled  veterans;  he  saw 
much  which  attracted  him — a  gallant  esprit  de  corps, 
a  shoulder-shrugging  philosophy,  fine  touches  of  true 
chivalry,  and  that  careless,  light-hearted  courage 
which  characterizes  the  French  soldier  who  has  seen 
service.  There  was  a  simplicity  and  frugality  about 
their  daily  existence  which  appealed  to  him,  but  for 
all  that,  he  felt  with  somewhat  of  dismay  that  their 
ways  were  not  his  ways. 

Porto  Ferrajo  was  vicious  during  the  brief  reign  of 
Napoleon,  and  there  was  a  levity  and  license  which 
shocked  the  staid  and  somewhat  strait-laced  Scot. 
His  nature  was  too  sensitive,  his  upbringing  had 
been  too  stern,  for  such  pleasures  to  have  any  charm 
for  him.  It  was  not  so  much  the  sins  in  themselves 
as  the  open  way  in  which  they  were  committed  which 
disgusted  him.  He  viewed  it  all  with  a  fine  contempt 
and  the  irritation  of  a  sick  man.  Gironde  understood, 
and  laughed  at  him. 
14 


210         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

'  I  know  you,  Noel,  my  boy,  better  than  yourself/ 
he  would  say.  '  I  have  been  to  England,  and  have 
admired — oh,  very  greatly  ! — the  amusing  way  you 
cloak  things ;  but  the  candle  may  flame  even  under 
the  extinguisher.  We  are  not  ashamed,  you  are — 
there  is  the  difference  in  a  nutshell.  I  myself  am  a 
busy  man,  therefore  moral ;  but  it  is  all  custom,  my 
friend,  all  custom,  I  assure  you.' 

'  I  know  nothing  of  England,'  Neil  would  growl 
savagely ;  and  Gironde  held  his  tongue,  knowing 
better  than  to  argue  with  a  peevish  invalid  and  a 
misanthrope. 

Religion  was  another  stumbling-block  in  Neil 
Darroch's  endeavour  to  identify  himself  with  his 
mother's  people.  Certainly  it  was  not  much  in 
evidence  either  in  court  or  camp,  with  the  exception 
of  a  fine  respect  for  the  Almighty  which  in  all  ages 
has  served  men  more  or  less  to  their  satisfaction. 
But  Elba  was  Italian,  and  cassocked  friars  came  and 
went,  and  shorn  priests  were  thick  as  berries,  and 
these  latter  Neil  had  from  his  earliest  reading  days 
regarded  as  emissaries  of  Satan.  The  greatest  epoch 
in  the  history  of  France  was  in  his  opinion  the 
gallant  struggle  for  liberty  of  conscience  made  by 
the  Huguenots,  from  some  of  whom  he  claimed 
descent  ;  its  foulest  and  darkest  page  the  massacre 
of  St.  Bartholomew. 

As  has  been  said,  he  was  not  a  specially  pious 
man  ;  he  was  like  the  great  majority,  respectable  and 
careless;  but  religious  history  was  a  strong  point 
with  him,  as  with  most  of  his  countrymen.  Roman 
Catholicism  was  the  faith  of  France,  inasmuch  as  it 
had  any  faith  at  all,  and  the  fact  did  not  come  kindly 
to  the  man  who  was  striving  to  forget  the  land  of 
his  birth. 

As  he  grew  stronger,  his  doubts  increased.  He 
had  been  prepared  to  become  a  hero-worshipper  ;  but 
he  saw  Napoleon  at  his  worst.  Buonaparte  was 
living  the  life  of  a  none  too  virtuous  country  gentle- 


'VIVE  L'EMPEREUR!'  211 

man.     His  fire  and  energy  seemed  to  have  fled ;  he 
was  often  melancholy  and  out  of  humour. 

Neil  Darroch  had  detected  his  plausibility  when 
first  he  saw  him,  and  this  had  rankled.  He  had  con- 
sidered Napoleon  as  a  general  and  a  leader  of  men, 
and  had  forgotten  that  such  a  prodigy  must  needs 
have  manifold  sides  to  his  character.  His  little  trick 
with  Gironde  had  disgusted  Neil,  who  had  very  fine 
and  wholly  unpractical  ideas  as  to  the  behaviour  of 
persons  of  exalted  rank  and  great  attainments.  It 
shocked  him  to  find  that  the  terror  of  Europe  was  in 
any  sense  a  charlatan.  Still,  he  had  lingered  on  in 
Elba,  carefully  avoiding  the  British  Commissary  and 
the  inquisitive  English  travellers  who  not  infrequently 
honoured  the  fallen  giant  by  coming  to  inspect  him 
as  they  would  a  lion  in  a  cage.  Their  manners  and 
customs  still  further  prejudiced  Neil  against  the 
dominant  partner. 

Then  came  the  fatal  coup,  and  for  a  time  Neil  was 
enthusiastic  as  one  dramatic  incident  followed  another, 
and  he  saw  a  devotion  and  a  magnetism  unsurpassed 
in  the  annals  of  war  anrd  hero-worship.  The  effect, 
however,  had  not  been  lasting.  Truth  to  tell,  the 
man  was  soured  and  embittered.  He  came  to  look 
upon  the  sobbing  soldiery  as  ridiculous  children,  on 
the  whole  affair  as  a  gigantic  farce.  He  could  not 
help  being  moved  at  times,  as  when  he  witnessed  the 
transformation  at  the  Bridge  of  Laffray  and  the  affect- 
ing scenes  at  Lyons  and  Fontainebleau  ;  but  his 
ardour  always  cooled,  his  excitement  abated,  and  so 
now  he  sat  and  listened,  half  amused,  half  scornful,  to 
the  astonishing  tale  which  the  warm-hearted  Jules 
Gironde  was  spluttering  out,  embellishing  it  by 
motions  and  gestures  which  were  more  befitting  in 
an  actor  than  an  historian. 

1 1  have  told  you,'  he  said,   '  how  Monsieur  Des- 
champs  there  and  myself  came  to  be  upon  the  brig, 
how  we  cheated  these  Corsican  rascals  and  that  fox 
Bruslart.' 
14—2 


212          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

'  Yes,  yes,'  answered  an  old  war-worn  fellow,  tapping 
impatiently  with  his  stick ;  '  but  what  of  the  Emperor, 
friend  Gironde  ?' 

'  Patience,  grandfather,'  laughed  Jules.  '  As  ex- 
sergeant  of  voltigeurs,  you  should  know  the  value  of 
that  virtue.' 

'  Tonnerre  !  and  so  I  do  in  action,  but  this  tongue- 
wagging  is  wearisome,  and  it  is  all  about  yourself. 
One  would  think  no  one  had  suffered  but  those  of  the 
secret  service.  Par  Dieu  !  I  have  two  fingers  left,  and 
my  ribs  on  one  side  run  through  a  great  bayonet  scar, 
five  of  them  through  a  devil  of  a  mess,  while  as 
for ' 

'  Thine  anatomy  perish  with  thee  !'  shouted  a  lean 
recruit  from  the  Sorbonne  and  the  hospitals. 

But  he  paid  for  his  words  by  being  kicked  from 
the  room.  It  was  not  well  in  such  a  company  to 
insult  a  veteran. 

'  For  all  that,  it  is,  to  say  the  least,  a  probable 
occurrence,'  laughed  a  little  sprig  of  a  man  in  a  showy 
hussar  uniform,  who  kept  tilting  his  chair  back  on  its 
hind-legs  and  plucking  at  his  wiry  and  greased  mous- 
tache. '  But  go  on,  Gironde.  I  shall  break  the  head 
of  the  next  chatterer.' 

Thus  adjured,  Jules  recovered  his  good-nature, 
which  had  been  sorely  taxed,  and  proceeded  : 

'  The  Emperor  sent  for  me.  I  had  the  honour  of 
an  interview.  What  he  said  I  am  not  at  liberty  to 
disclose,  but  he  was  good  enough  to  speak  highly  of 
my  services  in  Corsica.  I  came  away  smiling  from 
ear  to  ear ' — here  a  burst  of  laughter  interrupted  the 
Gascon — '  from  scar  to  scar,  then,  my  friends,  if  you 
will  have  it  so  ;  and  why  ?  Not  because  of  honeyed 
words  and  compliments — no,  no,  I  am  not  a  child — 
but  I  read  hope  in  the  Emperor's  face.  I  knew  he 
had  something  up  his  sleeve,  a  trump-card  to  play — 
yes,  and,  by  God  !  he  has  played  it.' 

'  He  has !  he  has !'  roared  a  dozen  voices. 

'  I  give  you  the  toast  of  "  The  Emperor  "  !'  shouted 


'VIVE  L'EMPEREUR!'  213 

Gironde  for  the  third  time  that  morning,  and  it  was 
drunk  with  acclamation. 

'  So  we  came  at  last  to  that  dull  hole,  Porto  Ferrajo, 
where  I  found  that  Drouot  was  the  governor.  His 
health,  my  friends  !  he  is  an  honest  man,  is  Drouot,  he 
and  Bertrand.  Why,  bless  me !  we  have  not  drunk  a 
glass  to  the  General.  Bertrand,  my  friends!  I  give 
you  the  Count  Bertrand  !' 

After  the  noise  which  this  toast  evoked  had  sub- 
sided the  Gascon  again  took  up  the  thread  of  his 
narrative. 

1  You  ask  me,  gentlemen,  how  we  lived  at  Porto 
Ferrajo.  I  answer,  none  too  well.  What  think  you 
of  the  Emperor  as  a  land  surveyor  and  an  overseer  of 
mines?  True,  there  was  some  state  ceremony 
observed.  Madame  Mere  was  there,  the  Princess 
Paulina  paid  us  a  visit,  we  had  receptions  and  balls 
which  were  attended  by  whom,  think  you  ?  The 
wives  of  butchers  and  bakers.  As  for  pleasures,  we 
turned  a  church  or  two  into  theatres,  and  voyaged  in 
the  brig,  with  the  English  Commissioner  to  see  that 
we  behaved  ourselves.  Ah  !  my  friends,  is  it  any 
wonder  our  spirits  were  nearly  broken  ?  Cipriani,  the 
major-domo,  has  wept  with  me  time  and  again.' 

'  And  what  of  the  ladies  ?'  asked  the  gay  hussar, 
slyly  winking  at  the  company. 

'You  are  condemned  out  of  your  own  mouth, 
Perrier,'  retorted  Gironde.  '  Only  I  do  not  see  how 
you  can  well  break  your  own  head,  and  it  would  not 
harm  you  much  if  you  did.  Napoleon  longed  for  the 
Empress,  who  never  came,  though  someone  else  did. 
As  to  that,  my  lips  are  sealed ;  but  I  will  give  you 
yet  another  toast.' 

'  Bravo  !  another  toast ;  let  us  but  fill  our  glasses, 
Gironde.' 

'  You  are  ready,  my  friends  ?  Then  drink  to  a  true 
woman  and  a  faithful  friend.' 

'A  double  toast?'  asked  a  civilian,  the  only  one 
present. 


2i4  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

'  No  such  luck/  laughed  the  irrepressible  Perrier. 

'  No,  no !'  cried  the  Gascon  ;  '  one  and  the  same, 
and  in  silence,  messieurs — in  silence,  as  is  fitting.' 

In  silence  it  was  honoured. 

'  So  the  days  wore  on,  and  by  the  time  Monsieur 
Deschamps  there  was  on  his  legs  I  at  least  knew  that 
there  was  something  in  the  air,  and  that  even  before 
Cipriani  went  to  Livorno  to  purchase  furniture  for  the 
palace.  But  he  came  back  with  news  which,  if  the 
veterans  had  known  it,  would  have  made  them  swear 
enough  to  blow  Elba  out  of  the  sea.  That  rascally 
Congress  at  Vienna  had  agreed  to  kidnap  the  Emperor 
and  imprison  him  on  a  rock  in  the  Atlantic — a  place 
called  St.  Helena.  And  this,  mark  you,  after  all  their 
promises  and  vows.  Ah !  but  they  will  pay  sweetly 
for  it.  I  would  have  given  a  third  ear,  if  I  had  one, 
to  have  seen  the  rogues'  faces  when  they  heard  the 
news  from  the  Gulf  of  Juan. 

'  Well,  my  friends,  there  is  no  use  dwelling  on  what 
is  dark  and  sad.  Let  us  thank  God  Napoleon's  health 
was  good — indeed,  better  than  I  have  known  it.  I 
have  heard  that  some  hint  that  he  is  failing.  To  such 
I  give  the  lie.  Why,  he  is  younger  than  myself,  and 
at  the  most  I  am  fifty.' 

'And  have  been  since  I  knew  you,'  murmured 
Perrier,  nodding  vigorously. 

'  Friend  Perrier  is  drunk  ;  but  no  matter,  he  has 
been  so  since  I  first  met  him,'  snapped  Gironde,  to 
the  great  amusement  of  the  company,  who  were  well 
acquainted  with  the  failings  of  both  these  worthies. 

'  I  say  that  the  Emperor  is  sober — I  mean  in  good 
health.  No  sick  man  could  study  as  he  did,  could 
ride  and  take  an  interest  in  everything  he  saw.  He 
is  yet  the  man  of  Marengo  and  Austerlitz,  and  by  all 
the  saints  in  the  calendar,  he  will  yet  show  it.  Again 
I  give  you  his  health.' 

'  Some  have  need  of  it,'  chuckled  Perrier,  punching 
a  fat  infantryman  who  sat  beside  him,  and  whose 
looks  spoke  to  a  doubtful  liver.  But  none  heeded 


'VIVE  L'EMPEREUR!'  215 

him,  and  he  drank  with  the  rest,  Neil,  for  form's  sake, 
also  complying  with  the  call. 

*  It  was,  I  think,  in  December,'  Gironde  continued, 
'  that  I  noticed  he  was  not  so  friendly  as  he  had  been 
with  that  dry  bag  of  bones,  the  English  Colonel,  who, 
by  the  way,  was  not  a  bad  fellow,  and  a  Scot  by 
birth.  I  have  a  friendly  feeling  for  the  Ecossais 
gentlemen.' 

'  And  I !'     '  And  I  also  !'  affirmed  several. 

'There  was  a  girl  of  that  nation,'  began  Perrier, 
but  someone  kicked  his  chair  from  under  him  and  his 
story  ended  abruptly,  and  probably  in  time. 

'As  I  was  saying,'  the  Gascon  went  on,  'the 
Emperor,  who  is  never  double-faced,  grew  less  inti- 
mate with  the  Commissioner,  though  it  was  not  till 
February  that  strange  visitors  came  and  went.  Till 
then  we  had  Italians  by  the  hundred — I  have  seen 
three  hundred  in  a  single  day — English  milords,  at 
whom  the  grizzled  old  fire-eaters  of  the  Guard  spat 
and  swore,  and  scores  of  others.  Never  was  Napoleon 
more  run  after.' 

'  Sacre* !'  growled  the  sergeant  of  voltigeurs, '  in  my 
time  the  running  was  the  other  way.' 

'  You  are  right,  grandfather ;  and,  please  Heaven,  it 
shall  be  so  again.  But,  as  I  was  saying,  in  February 
there  came  a  sailor  who  was  no  sailor,  and  a  merchant 
who  was  no  merchant  They  were  both  closeted  with 
the  Emperor,  and  I  could  guess  what  it  was  they 
talked  about.  Besides,  did  we  not  hear  rumours  of 
the  watchwords  and  the  pocket-pieces  ?' 

'  There  is  one,'  said  the  recruit,  who  had  been  re- 
admitted, slapping  a  little  medal  down  'upon  the 
table.  It  bore  an  effigy  of  Napoleon  on  one  side, 
and  on  the  other  the  words,  '  He  has  been,  and  will 
be.' 

'  Just  so ;  but,  for  all  that,  it  came  like  a  thunder- 
clap in  the  end,  and  what  a  scene  it  was!  The 
Colonel  Campbell  had  gone  to  Florence,  the  cat  was 
away,  and  the  mice  played — to  some  tune,  my  friends  I 


216  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

It  was  on  the  26th  of  February  that  the  order  came. 
The  English  sloop-of-war  was  at  Livorno.  There 
was  no  one  to  hinder.  And  yet,  though  they  might 
guess,  few  but  myself  knew  what  was  our  destination. 
As  for  me,  the  Emperor  had  pinched  my  arm  more 
than  once,  and  told  me  that  he  thought  the  air  of 
Paris  suited  me  best.  As  you  see,  he  could  tell  when 
a  man  can  keep  a  secret.' 

Neil  Darroch  had  difficulty  in  repressing  a  smile. 
During  the  long  and  weary  days  in  Elba,  and  the 
adventurous  time  through  which  they  had  just  passed, 
he  had  had  plenty  of  opportunity  to  become  acquainted 
with  the  Gascon's  peculiarities,  and  he  scarcely  agreed 
with  his  last  statement — at  least,  in  the  sense  Gironde 
intended. 

*  If  I  live  to  be  a  hundred,'  continued  the  spy,  his 
cheeks  flushed  and  his  weak  eyes  brightening,  '  I 
shall  never  forget  that  day.  First  the  guard,  the 
men  of  the  line,  the  Polish  horse,  and  the  riff-raff, 
worthless  Corsicans  and  Elbans,  embarked  on  seven 
cockleshells  of  craft,  and  an  hour  later  the  Emperor 
went  aboard  the  brig,  with  the  generals  and  myself. 
Ah,  my  friends  !  it  was  a  great  day,  and  so  simple — a 
mere  pleasure  party,  as  it  were.  The  inhabitants 
lined  the  quay  and  cheered  themselves  hoarse.' 

'Now,  that/  said  Perrier,  'might  have  a  double 
meaning.' 

'  As  you  have  a  double  vision  at  present  If  I  did 
not  know  you  for  a  true  son  of  the  Empire,  I  would 
shoot  you  at  twenty  paces  ;  but  you  grow  wearisome, 
and  do  not  amuse,  so  hold  your  tongue,  my  boy,  and 
listen  to  your  betters.' 

'  Very  good,  very  good,'  drawled  Perrier.  '  I  could 
never  lie  like  you,  Jules,  so  have  your  own  way? 

Gironde  gave  a  little  snort  of  contempt. 

'Lies,'  said  he,  'are  at  times  advisable,  at  times 
necessary  ;  now  I  deal  with  facts.  If  any  doubt  me, 
I  appeal  to  my  friend  Monsieur  Deschamps,' 

Neil  Darroch  bowed. 


'VIVE  L'EMPEREUR!'  217 

1 1  confirm  all  you  have  said  with  regard  to  these 
events,'  he  replied,  with  emphasis. 

'  There !'  said  the  Gascon  triumphantly.  '  That  is 
the  word  of  a  gentleman  and  an  advocate,  who  has 
seen  what  I  describe.  You  are  satisfied,  messieurs  ?' 

'They  had  better  be,'  growled  old  Babbitdt,  the 
sergeant ;  *  for  I  shall  now  do  any  head-breaking  that 
is  required.' 

He  thumped  the  table  and  glared  at  the  hussar, 
who  merely  smiled  affably  and  lifted  his  glass  to 
him. 

Peace  being  thus  restored,  Jules  Gironde  began 
afresh : 

'  As  I  have  said,  I  was  on  the  Inconstant;  and  let 
me  tell  you,  it  was  wonderful  to  see  the  change  which 
came  over  the  old  grenadiers.  Moustaches  which 
had  drooped  for  months  stiffened  like  magic ;  back 
went  their  shoulders,  up  went  their  heads.  "  Paris  or 
death !"  they  shouted,  and  those  on  the  other  ships 
echoed  the  cry. 

'  As  for  the  Emperor,  he  was  like  himself  again. 
He  went  about  amongst  his  guard  and  patted  their 
cheeks  and  pulled  their  bristles.  When  he  told  them 
we  were  bound  for  France,  they  could  scarcely  cheer, 
so  great  was  their  emotion.  I  think  that  Drouot 
was  the  only  dull  man  on  board.  He  is  faithful  but 
timid  ;  now  he  has  seen  his  mistake.  We  had  the 
shore  breeze  with  us  and  crowded  all  sail. 

'  Alas !  scarcely  had  we  doubled  Cape  St.  Andrew 
when  the  wind  fell.  All  night  it  continued  calm.  At 
daybreak  we  had  hardly  advanced.  There  were 
Bourbon  frigates  about — I  shall  not  call  them  French 
— and  some  were  so  afraid  they  would  have  returned. 

*  "  Gironde,"  said  the  Emperor  to  me,  "  what  is 
your  opinion  ?"  ' 

' "  It  is  that  of  your  Majesty,"  '  I  affirmed. 

' "  You  are  right,"  he  answered ;  "  let  us  hold  on 
our  course." ' 

'  To  lighten  the  vessels  the  baggage  was  thrown 


2i8  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

over  the  side.  Providence  was  with  us,  and  behold  a 
breeze!  Behold,  also,  in  the  afternoon,  a  brig-of- 
war  !  She  sights  us,  and  bears  down  upon  us. 

'We  prepare  for  battle,  but  the  Emperor  is  merciful. 
He  sends  the  guard  below  and  the  brigs  meet.  Our 
captain  speaks  that  of  le  Ztphir,  who,  as  I  am 
a  living  man,  must  ask  after  Napoleon's  health. 
What  then,  think  you?  The  Emperor  takes  the 
speaking-trumpet  himself,  and  answers  that  the 
Emperor  is  extremely  well.' 

A  shout  of  laughter  greeted  this  part  of  Gironde's 
narration. 

'  Un,  deux,  trois !'  shouted  the  recruit,  and  one  and 
all  clapped  their  approval. 

'  Yes,'  said  the  Gascon,  '  it  was  superb,  my  friends  ; 
and  yet  they  say  the  Emperor  is  in  ill-health  !  Sick 
men  do  not  jest.  But  we  were  not  yet  out  of  the 
wood.  The  next  day  we  sighted  a  ship,  but  happily 
she  took  no  notice  of  us.  We  sail  along  merrily,  and 
the  Emperor  writes  a  proclamation  to  the  army,  to 
the  garrisons  of  the  south,  to  the  veterans,  to  all. 
It  stirs  us,  I  can  tell  you.  It  shows  how  France  has 
been  sold,  sold  by  traitors  to  the  Bourbon  tyrants 
and  to  foreign  hordes.  It  promises  victory  and 
liberty.  We  weep  as  it  is  read,  but  scarcely  is  it 
finished  when  there  is  a  cry  of  "  Land  !"  It  is  Antibes, 
it  is  France.  We  hail  it  with  shouts,  and  on  every 
cap  is  seen  the  tricoloured  cockade.  The  white  and 
amaranth  powdered  with  bees  vanishes  like  magic, 
and  so  does  all  fear. 

'  You  may  think,  my  friends,  with  what  feelings  I 
view  the  coast  line.  I  think  of  all  I  have  suffered, 
of  the  loss  of  my  ears,  of  my  blindness  ;  my  emotion 
chokes  me ;  but  I  thank  God  I  have  lived  to  see  this 
day.  If  these  were  my  thoughts,  what  must  have 
been  the  Emperor's  ?  I  watched  him,  and  his  face 
was  calm,  though  his  lips  twitched.  He  stood  upon 
the  foredeck,  his  hand  so,  his  hat  off,  and  I  do  not 
think  he  knew  anything  of  what  was  passing.  He 


'VIVE   L'EMPEREUR!'  219 

foresaw  yesterday,   the   scene   at   the  Tuileries,  his 
triumph  !' 

'  Ay,'  muttered  Neil  Darroch  to  himself,  '  and 
perhaps  that  which  is  to  come.' 

He  was  not  blinded  by  enthusiasm  as  was  Jules 
Gironde,  and  he  read  the  signs  more  surely.  He  saw 
there  must  be  delay,  and  delay  he  knew  meant  ruin 
sooner  or  later.  He  had  not  the  Gascon's  faith,  and 
it  may  be  the  wish  was  father  to  his  thoughts,  for  a 
change  had  come  over  his  ideas  as  well  as  over  him- 
self. He  no  longer  regarded  Buonaparte  as  a  hero. 
He  had  been  prepared  to  do  so.  He  had  been  ready 
to  regard  him  as  a  leader  and  to  serve  under  him, 
even  to  blot  out  his  own  past  and  start  upon  a  new 
career,  which,  as  Gironde  hinted,  might  prove  a 
brilliant  one.  At  the  very  outset  he  had  been 
shocked  by  the  little  incident  he  had  witnessed  on 
board  the  brig.  Afterwards  his  pride  had  been  hurt. 
Although  on  several  occasions  he  had  come  under  the 
Emperor's  notice,  his  presence  had  .been  ignored. 
He  saw  he  was  forgotten  and  he  made  no  effort  to 
attract  attention.  Instead,  he,  so  to  speak,  recoiled 
upon  himself.  True,  he  had  hoped  that  something 
might  occur  on  the  way  to  Paris  which  would  direct 
notice  to  his  abilities,  but  he  had  been  disappointed. 
He  had  seen  a  series  of  events  well  worth  the  seeing, 
but  he  had  been  an  interested  spectator  only.  His 
position  was  curious.  He  was  entirely  dependent 
upon  Gironde,  and  at  this  he  chafed,  but  was  unable 
to  remedy  it.  He  had  thought  more  than  once  of 
severing  his  connection  with  the  band  of  men  which 
had  in  a  few  short  weeks  become  an  army,  but  he 
had  finally  resolved  to  wait  till  he  had  an  opportunity 
of  repaying  the  cheery  little  Gascon  to  whom  he  owed 
so  much. 

He  had  found  a  friend,  and,  lonely  man  as  he  was, 
he  shrank  from  breaking  the  ties  of  comradeship 
which  had  grown  up  between  them.  He  did  not 
believe  that  this  effort  of  Napoleon,  marvellous  though 


220         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

it  was,  could  eventually  be  crowned  with  success.  But 
that  was  not  his  reason  for  feeling  dissatisfied  and 
restless.  The  Emperor  had  not  come  up  to  his  ex- 
pectations. Every  now  and  then  he  saw,  or  thought 
he  saw,  traces  of  a  low  cunning.  The  proclamations 
he  had  heard  sounded  false.  They  prated  of  peace 
and  liberty,  and  yet  he  knew  there  could  be  neither 
under  such  a  man.  He  had  watched  him  as  narrowly  as 
he  could, and  while  he  found  much  to  admire,  there  had 
been  that  which  repelled  him.  He  began  to  see  what 
he  had  so  often  heard  stated  as  a  fact,  that  the  motive 
power  of  Buonaparte's  every  action  was  a  boundless 
ambition,  that  he  was  self-centered  and  vainglorious. 
He  could  not  deny  Napoleon's  wonderful  personality. 
His  Celtic  blood,  hot  and  impulsive,  might  have  led 
him  to  fall  down  and  worship  as  so  many  had  done, 
but  it  was  counteracted  by  the  effect  of  a  legal 
training,  by  the  ideas  he  had  imbibed  from  a  shrewd, 
hard-headed  set  of  men,  and  perhaps,  under  all,  there 
was  something  else,  for,  as  we  have  said,  a  man 
cannot  change  his  country  like  his  coat. 

In  his  own  mind  he  was  always  trying  to  justify  his 
actions,  which  in  itself  pointed  to  something  wrong. 
He  had  made  a  mistake,  and  he  knew  it,  but  he  had 
nothing  to  fall  back  upon  save  a  desire  for  revenge 
which  time  and  distance  had  weakened.  He  began  to 
look  upon  himself  as  a  wanderer  and  homeless,  as 
one  who  had  renounced  his  birthright,  and  had 
neither  a  country  nor  a  people,  and  he  took  refuge  in 
a  hopeless  cynicism  as  unhealthy  as  it  was  miserable. 

It  is  scarcely  remarkable  that,  after  all  that  had 
befallen  him,  and  especially  with  the  heredity  which 
was  unhappily  his,  he  should  have  passed  into  such 
a  state. 

Gironde  did  not  profess  to  understand  him,  and 
was  secretly  annoyed  and  distressed,  but  was  un- 
swerving in  his  friendship,  and  never  ceased  trying 
to  make  Neil  as  staunch  a  Buonapartist  as  himself! 
Neil  envied  him,  and  never  more  so  than  when  he 


THE  MARCH  221 

heard  the  delight  and  gusto  with  which  Jules  related 
every  incident  of  the  first  part  of  that  astonishing 
period  which  has  passed  into  history  under  the  fitting 
title  of '  the  Hundred  Days.' 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  MARCH 

'  T])  EHOLD  us  at  last  on  French  soil,'  said  Gironde 

~~S  — '  eleven  hundred  men,  ready  to  march  on 
Paris.  Picture  to  yourself  such  an  army  of 
invasion.  In  all  history  there  is  none  like  it ;  but 
remember,  with  these  eleven  hundred  was  the  Em- 
peror.' 

*  And  Jules  Gironde,'  murmured  Perrier. 

'  Ay,  and  Jules  Gironde !'  thundered  old  Babbit6t. 
'Had  every  citizen  done  his  duty  like  our  friend  here, 
there  would  have  been  no  need  for  any  invasion,  so 
put  that  in  your  pouch,  my  dandy.' 

1  Gently,  gently !'  said  the  Gascon.  '  Perrier  must 
have  his  little  joke,  and  he  is  not  far  wrong;  but, 
mark  me,  whatever  is  in  store  for  France  is  due  to  us. 
We  of  the  forlorn  hope  have  made  history.  Think 
of  us  !  We  were  in  the  south,  which  has  always  been 
hostile  to  the  Emperor,  where  Napoleon  was  but  a 
year  before  in  danger  of  his  life  from  a  mad  crowd  of 
fanatics,  and  yet  we  were  confident.  The  Emperor 
speaks  of  his  star,  a  vanishing  star  some  have  called 
it,  but  to  me  it  is  like  one  of  those  brilliant  planets 
which  storm-clouds  may  obscure,  but  which  is  there 
all  the  same,  and  shines  again  more  brightly  than 
ever/ 

Gironde  was  so  pleased  with  his  poetical  simile  and 
the  applause  it  called  forth,  that  he  rose  and  bowed 
repeatedly,  and  Neil  noticed  he  was  not  very  steady 
on  his  feet.  It  is  scarcely  to  be  wondered  at,  con- 
sidering the  amount  of  wine  he  had  stowed  away; 


222          VENGEANCE   IS  MINE 

but  his  head  was  clear  and  his  speech  unaffected, 
which  was  more  than  could  be  said  for  the  fat  infantry- 
man, who,  after  delivering  a  few  incoherent  sentences, 
went  sound  asleep,  and  was  promptly  deposited  on 
the  floor.  As  he  had  been  known  to  snatch  forty 
winks  with  his  company  under  fire,  Gironde  took  his 
inattention  with  a  very  good  grace. 

'At  first  things  looked  black  enough.  The  pro- 
clamation to  the  army,  signed  by  the  Emperor  and 
countersigned  by  General  Bertrand,  foretold  victory. 
"  Victory  will  march  forward  with  the  charge-step," 
it  said  ;  "  the  eagle,  with  the  national  colours,  will  fly 
from  steeple  to  steeple,  till  it  reaches  the  towers  of 
Ndtre  Dame."  But,  my  friends,  there  was  no  sign  of 
it  these  first  few  days.  "  Mount  the  tricoloured 
cockade,  resume  the  eagles  you  bore  at  Austerlitz,  at 
Jena,  at  Lutzen  !"  cried  the  proclamation  ;  but  devil  a 
striped  cockade  did  we  see  outside  the  eleven  hundred. 
"  Soldiers,"  said  the  proclamation,  "in  my  exile  I 
heard  your  voice.  I  am  arrived  through  every  obstacle, 
through  every  danger.  Your  General,  called  to  the 
throne  by  the  voice  of  the  people,  and  raised  on 
your  shields,  is  restored  to  you.  Come  and  join 
him." 

'  It  was  like  a  trumpet-call,  messieurs,  but  never  a 
recruit  did  we  get.  You  ask  how  I  remember  all 
these  words.  Let  me  tell  you.  On  the  brig  all  who 
could  write  a  fair  hand  had  the  honour  of  copying 
both  proclamations.  You  would  have  laughed  had 
you  seen  officers  and  soldiers  and  the  very  seamen 
with  their  elbows  squared,  scribbling  away  for  dear 
life,  as  though  it  were  a  boys'  school.  I  wrote  with 
the  rest,  and  the  fiery  words  burned  into  my  very 
brain.  Listen  to  what  he  told  the  French  people. 
He  showed  that  the  country  had  been  betrayed,  that 
Paris  and  Lyons  had  been  given  up  by  Augereau  and 
Marmont,  vile  traitors  that  they  were.  He  made  clear 
why  he  had  banished  himself  to  Elba,  with  a  handful 
of  his  brave  fellows  as  a  guard,  and  then  he  calls  on 


THE  MARCH  223 

them  :  "  Frenchmen,  in  my  exile  I  heard  your  com- 
plaint and  wishes.  You  called  for  that  Government 
of  your  own  choice  which  alone  is  legitimate.  You 
blamed  my  long  slumber,  you  reproached  me  with 
sacrificing  the  great  interests  of  the  country  to  my 
own  repose.  I  have  crossed  the  sea  amidst  perils  of 
every  kind  ;  I  arrive  among  you  to  resume  my  rights, 
which  are  also  yours." 

'  Grand !  is  it  not,  my  friends  ?' 

'  It  went  on  to  quote  history,  to  show  that  every 
nation  had  the  right  to  free  itself  from  a  yoke  imposed 
by  a  foreign  enemy  victorious  for  a  time,  and  then  it 
finished  :  "  It  is  to  you  only,  and  to  the  brave  men  of 
the  army,  that  I  make  and  shall  always  make  it  my 
glory  to  owe  everything."  ' 

'  Ay,  ay,'  growled  Babbit6t ;  *  but  the  army  might 
have  come  first.' 

'  Out  upon  you,  old  grumbler!'  cried  Gironde;  'and 
once  more,  gentlemen,  the  Emperor,  and  then  we 
shall  follow  him  to  the  capital.' 

*  Bravo !  the  Emperor !'  shouted  the  others. 

Neil  Darroch  did  not  stir.  These  very  proclama- 
tions, packed  with  what  he  considered  lies  and  fulsome 
flatteries,  had  done  more  to  set  him  against  Napoleon 
than  anything  he  had  seen,  and  yet  in  their  way  they 
were  masterpieces. 

'  You  will  understand  that  I,  Jules  Gironde,  late  of 
the  thirty-second  of  the  line,  and  then  of  the  secret 
service,  had  exceptional  opportunities  of  seeing  all 
that  passed.  I  was  given  charge  of  the  Emperor's 
person.  It  was  my  duty  to  look  out  for  suspicious 
fellows,  to  listen  and  report.  I  had  the  help  of 
Monsieur  Deschamps  there  on  more  than  one  ticklish 
occasion,  for,  as  you  may  suppose,  there  was  more 
than  one  gentleman  of  the  stiletto  about.  The 
Bourbons  have  always  made  use  of  the  assassin.  In 
due  time  I  shall  tell  you  what  befell  at  Auxerre  ;  at 
present  we  shall  consider  the  march  from  Antibes  to 
Grenoble, 


224         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

'  I  have  said  we  did  not  get  one  recruit.  I  was 
wrong.  Two  soldiers  joined  us — two  men  who  may 
yet  become  Marshals  of  France.  All  honour  to  them, 
I  say !  They  are  a  poor  lot  yonder  in  the  south-east. 
At  Cannes  they  did  not  turn  a  hair.  They  stared 
and  jabbered,  the  dull  fools  1  At  Grasse  they  were 
cowards. 

'  They  professed  to  be  with  us,  and  how  many 
joined,  think  you  ?  One — and  he  a  tanner.  Bless 
his  leather  breeches,  say  I,  and  this  to  his  health  !  A 
gendarme  came  in  on  the  march  across  the  mountains 
to  Digne.  May  he  live  to  be  a  chief  of  police !  Four 
men  in  as  many  days,  and  yet  we  never  quailed. 
Instead,  we  covered  thirty  miles  in  twenty  hours,  and 
that  over  a  mere  track  amongst  precipices,  and 
through  scenery  like  that  of  the  accursed  island 
Corsica,  which  to  me  is  only  bearable  in  that  it  pro- 
duced Napoleon  Buonaparte. 

'  Imagine  my  anxiety  as  we  advanced  upon 
Grenoble,  where  was  a  whole  regiment  under 
Marchand.  To  be  sure,  there  was  a  small  garrison 
at  Digne  which  retired,  but  we  knew  they  were 
friendly.  At  Sisteron,  where  two  rivers  meet,  there 
is  a  citadel  and  a  garrison  also,  but  Mass£na  had  got 
word  by  this  time,  and  sent  a  corps  of  observation 
from  Marseilles,  which  overawed  them.  Otherwise 
the  brave  fellows  had  been  with  us.  It  was  not  our 
policy  to  fight  just  then,  so  we  passed  on. 

'  And  now,  my  friends,  the  good  peasants  came 
flocking  to  join  our  standards,  all  in  their  blue  blouses 
and  sabots,  their  brown  faces  alight  with  enthusiasm, 
their  horny  hands  ready  to  strike  a  blow  for  their 
rightful  King.  Had  you  seen  their  weapons — scythes, 
and  pitchforks,  and  old  muskets  which  you  fire  from 
rests — you  would  have  grinned  as  I  did.  The  Emperor 
was  well  pleased,  but  he  had  no  use  for  such.  He 
drank  vin  ordinaire  with  them  to  show  his  affection, 
but  he  knew — none  better — that  this  was  not  the 
material  he  wanted. 


THE  MARCH  225 

'And  now,  messieurs,  we  come  to  the  greatest 
scene  of  all.  We  approach  Grenoble,  as  you  know,  a 
fortress  on  the  I  sere.  We  are  in  a  beautiful  land,  and 
our  spirits  rise.  All  about  us  are  great  mountains, 
with  little  lakes  nestling  in  their  folds  ;  there  is  the 
murmur  of  running  water  ;  the  world  is  green  and 
fresh.  Tramp,  tramp,  on  we  plod,  very  dusty,  very 
wearied,  but  full  of  faith.  I,  who  am  acquainted 
with  these  valleys,  know  that  here  we  shall  be  faced, 
if  at  all. 

'  And  so  it  is.  As  we  swing  along  the  highway, 
what  is  it  that  we  see  in  front  ?  The  old  sight,  friends 
— the  old  sight.  The  gleam  of  sun  upon  steel,  the 
flash  of  rippling  light  upon  the  bayonets.  You  know 
it,  friend  Babbitdt  ?' 

'  Too  well — too  well !'  cried  the  old  sergeant  in  a 
shaky  voice.  '  But  go  on,  Jules  Gironde ;  you  had 
the  skirmishers  out,  had  you  not  ?' 

*  Trust  the  Emperor  for  that.  We  were  not  taken 
unawares,  but  there  they  were,  a  regiment  of  the  line 
massed  upon  the  road,  and  we  could  hear  their  officers 
shouting  and  swearing  at  them. 

'  The  Emperor  dismounts.  You  know  the  figure, 
the  brave  figure  in  a  gray  surtout,  with  cocked  hat 
and  the  striped  cockade  ?  Faith !  and  the  officers  in 
front  knew  it  too,  and  trembled  in  their  boots.  What 
then,  think  you  ?  The  Emperor  advances  on  foot,  at 
the  regulation  pace,  straight  towards  the  line  of 
levelled  muskets.  Men  have  told  me  their  hearts 
ceased  beating  as  they  saw  him  face  the  foe,  but, 
messieurs,  if  my  pulse  quickened  in  the  least,  it  was 
not  with  fear.  I,  Jules  Gironde,  knew  what  would 
happen. 

'  Someone — may  he  rot  in  hell ! — cries  "Fire !"  but 
there  is  not  even  the  clicking  of  a  trigger.  The  line  of 
barrels  wavers  up  and  down  like  that  of  a  recruit 
company  for  the  first  time  in  action.  I  laugh  to 
myself  as  I  see  the  old  mahogany  faces  behind  them. 
"These,"  say  I  to  myself,  "are  veterans;  they  will 
15 


226          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

remember,  even  though  they  have  never  seen  their 
General  in  such  a  shabby  coat." 

'  He  halts.  A  skylark  is  trilling  away  somewhere 
overhead.  I  take  it  as  a  good  omen.  There  is  not 
a  sound  now  to  drown  his  song.  "  This,"  I  say  to 
myself,  "  is  history."  The  Emperor  halts.  Suddenly 
he  throws  open  his  coat. 

' "  Soldiers  of  the  Fifth,"  he  exclaims,  "  behold  me ! 
You  have  been  told  I  am  afraid  of  death.  Here  is 
my  bosom  ;  if  there  be  one  soldier  among  you  who 
wishes  to  kill  his  Emperor,  he  can.  I  come  to  offer 
myself  to  your  assault."  ' 

Two  great  tears  hopped  down  Babbitot's  furrowed 
cheeks. 

'  And  then  ?'  he  asked  huskily. 

'  Then,'  said  Gironde,  '  there  was  no  longer  a 
regiment,  nothing  but  a  mob  of  men  who  sobbed  like 
children  and  could  hardly  cry  "Vive  1'Empereur!" 
for  the  lumps  in  their  throats.  They  thronged  about 
him,  they  knelt  in  the  dust  and  kissed  his  shoes,  they 
struggled  with  each  other  to  be  the  first  to  touch  the 
frayed  skirt  of  his  old  gray  coat.  I  do  not  know  what 
he  said,  or  how  he  looked,  for  he  was  lost  to  sight 
amongst  the  crowd,  but  I  saw  a  good  dozen  of  the 
grenadiers  rubbing  their  eyes. 

'As  for  me,  I  vowed  it  would  have  been  worth 
while  to  lose  a  third  ear  to  see  such  a  sight,  and  I 
knew  that  all  danger  was  past.  The  word  Laffray 
would  be  like  a  beacon  signalling  all  through  France, 
from  the  frontier  garrisons  in  the  north  to  the  army 
with  Soult  in  the  south-east,  summoning  them  all  to 
join  the  eagles,  and  so  it  proved,  and  so  it  proved.' 

The  Gascon  paused  for  breath.  He  was  greatly 
excited,  and  fairly  carried  away  by  his  tale.  He 
wiped  his  forehead  and  said  not  a  word  for  fully  five 
minutes,  but  no  one,  not  even  Perrier,  broke  the 
silence.  Outside  in  the  Rue  du  Bac  they  could  hear 
the  bustle  of  the  citizens,  the  shrill  voices  of  the  paper- 
sellers  shouting  the  news  of  the  Emperor's  arrival. 


''Soldiers  of  the  Fifth,"  he  exclaims,  "behold  me!  "  —Page  226. 


THE  MARCH  227 

From  the  room  below  came  the  chorus  of  a  martial 
song,  one  of  the  many  which  were  bawled  in  every 
cafe"  of  Paris  for  the  next  few  weeks.  A  fine  mellow 
voice  sang  a  verse  of  which  the  listeners  above  could 
not  discern  the  words,  and  then  came  a  burst  to  which 
Gironde  beat  time  with  his  glass  and  Babbitdt  with 
his  stick  : 

1  Though  days  were  dark, 
Though  days  were  drear, 
Though  rare  the  smile, 
Though  oft  the  tear, 
We  of  the  army,  tried  and  true, 
Amongst  the  clouds  yet  saw  the  blue* 
Napoleon's  glory  cannot  fade, 
So  drink  we  to  the  old  cockade.' 

'  And  we  also,  my  friends  !'  cried  Jules,  smiling  all 
over  his  stout  and  shining  face.  '  That  was  the  way 
with  these  men  of  the  Fifth.  Sapristi !  as  they  say  in 
Italy ;  every  man  of  them  had  the  tricolour  at  the  foot 
of  his  knapsack,  and  out  it  came  after  Laffray,  like — 
what  shall  I  say  ?  A  moment.  Ah  !  now  I  have  it 
— like  the  old  hedgehog  when  the  spring  sun  warms 
him.  You  catch  my  meaning  ?  It  is  not  safe  to 
meddle  with  the  little  fellow,  for  he  is  all  prickles. 
His  motto  —  let  me  see,  it  is  that  of  Scotland. 
Monsieur  Deschamps,  you  have  Scotch  blood  in  your 
veins,  and  you  will  tell  it  us.' 

Neil  shook  his  head.  He  did  not  like  the  turn  the 
conversation  had  taken. 

'No  matter,'  said  Babbit6t;  'their  motto  will  not 
help  the  bare  legs  when  the  Emperor  comes  to  deal 
with  them.' 

Neil  Darroch  smiled  grimly  for  a  moment,  and  then 
passed  his  hand  across  his  face  to  hide  the  pain  which 
had  come  into  it.  He  need  not  have  troubled,  for 
Gironde  was  again  speaking,  and  the  company  were 
all  attention. 

'  It  is  in  the  middle  of  all  this  confusion  that  a  big 
man  on  a  big  horse  comes  pushing  his  way  into  the 
15—2 


228          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

press,  with  a  cockade  half  the  size  of  his  rusty  hat. 
He  wears  the  uniform  of  the  national  guard,  and  he 
wears  it  with  honour,  for  he  cries  out : 

'  "  Sire,  I  am  Jean  Dumoulin,  the  glove-maker.  I 
bring  to  your  Majesty  a  hundred  thousand  francs, 
and  my  arm." 

1  How  we  cheered  him,  my  friends !  He  must 
have  been  a  proud  man  as  he  rode  at  the  head  of  the 
column.  Pouf!  what  did  we  care  now  for  Grenoble 
and  its  emigrants  !  You  may  be  sure  they  deserved 
their  name  a  second  time,  for  we  were  in  the  town 
by  night,  and  I  assure  you  that  I,  Jules  Gironde,  fat, 
without  ears,  and  fifty  years  of  age,  might  have  kissed 
the  prettiest  girl  in  it,  so  glad  were  the  folk  to 
see  us.' 

Perrier  heaved  a  sigh  almost  terrifying  in  its 
intensity. 

'  Pardon  me,'  he  said, '  but  what  have  I  not  missed  ! 
Continue,  friend  Jules,  but  spare  my  feelings,  I  entreat 
of  you.' 

The  Gascon  shook  his  head  at  him. 

'You  do  not  deserve  it,  my  boy,  but  I  shall  pay 
you  the  compliment  of  saying  that  it  was  pleasant  to 
hear  the  cavalry  clatter  again.  The  Emperor  entered 
Lyons  with  six  hundred  of  them  at  his  heels,  every 
sabre  of  them  a  handsomer  fellow  than  you,  Perrier, 
with  all  your  pomade  and  silver  braid.  The  eleven 
hundred  of  Antibes  had  now  become  seven  thousand, 
and  success  was  assured.  Lyons,  as  some  of  you 
know,  is  a  fine  city.  As  for  me,  the  Rhone  is  my 
favourite  river,  and  never  did  it  look  fairer  than  when 
twenty  thousand  citizens  lined  its  quays  to  bid  us 
welcome.  Where  now,  I  ask  you,  were  Macdonald, 
Monsieur,  and  the  Duke  ?  Where  was  St.  Cyr  ? 
Away  to  carry  the  news  to  Louis  Bourbon  that  he 
had  better  scuttle  back  to  Holland. 

'  It  was  at  Lyons  the  Emperor  struck  the  first  blow 
at  his  enemies.  He  would  not  shed  a  drop  of  blood, 
but  his  decrees  must  have  made  that  fox  Talleyrand 


THE  MARCH  229 

quake  —  ay,  and  Marmont  and  Augereau  and 
Dalberg,  who  owed  everything  to  him,  but  spun 
round  like  weathercocks  when  the  wind  was  con- 
trary. 

'  We  found  two  regiments  of  the  line  and  the 
thirteenth  dragoons  waiting  to  join  us,  and  learned 
that  a  veteran  of  the  Twentieth  had  bearded  Mac- 
donald  himself,  casting  his  words  in  his  teeth  when 
the  faithless  General  spoke  of  honour  and  fidelity. 

'  "  To  Napoleon  we  owe  the  oath,"  he  said,  "  to 
march  with  the  Emperor  after  having  abandoned  the 
King  :  in  that  alone  consists  our  fidelity." 

'  Such,  my  friends,  was  the  spirit  of  the  army.  As 
another  said,  "  Not  a  soldier  will  fight  against  his 
father."  Behold  us,  then,  no  longer  a  forlorn  hope, 
but  a  mighty  force  marching  to  restore  liberty  and 
peace,  to  place  France  in  the  forefront  of  the  nations. 
They  tell  me  Ney  has  promised  to  carry  Napoleon 
to  Paris  in  an  iron  cage.  I  laugh  when  I  hear  it,  for 
I  know  old  Red  Face  too  well.  They  call  him  the 
bravest  of  the  brave,  and  he  will  not  sully  his  name. 
At  Auxerre  he  meets  his  master.  I  did  not  see  the 
interview,  which  was  in  private — one  cannot  see 
everything — but  I  hear  of  it.  What,  think  you,  was 
the  sole  punishment  the  Emperor  inflicted  on  him 
for  his  delay  in  joining  us?  He  would  not  see  him 
the  night  he  arrived.  That  was  all — not  a  harsh  word, 
not  a  single  reproach,  and  yet  it  must  have  stung  the 
Marshal  to  the  quick.  They  have  lied  about  him ; 
no  doubt  they  will  lie  about  him  to  the  end  of  the 
chapter,  but  here  and  now,  gentlemen,  I  call  on  you 
to  drink  the  health  of  the  best  General  of  them  all. 
I  thank  you,'  said  Gironde,  when  the  glasses  were 
again  emptied  and  filled,  '  but  I  am  as  hoarse  as  a 
crow.' 

'  And  as  drunk  as  an  owl,'  laughed  Perrier. 

'Yet  not  so  drunk  as  a  certain  hussar,'  retorted 
Jules.  '  But  with  your  permission,  my  friends,  I  will 
tell  you  of  an  incident  at  Auxerre,  which  will  show 


230  VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

you  that  Jules  Gironde  yet  has  his  wits  about  him. 
On  the  march  I  had  made  myself  acquainted  with 
all  that  was  passing.  I  sucked  in  news  as  a  bee 
sucks  honey,  and,  like  honey,  it  was  for  the  most 
part  sweet ;  but  now  and  then  I  got  a  bitter  mouth- 
ful to  make  me  wary.  You  have  no  doubt  heard 
how  some  dogs  of  Vendeans,  disguised  as  women 
and  as  soldiers,  were  sent  from  Paris  to  make  away 
with  Napoleon.  He  laughed  when  he  was  told,  and 
took  no  precautions,  but  I  did.  I  trapped  one  of  the 
villains  in  a  little  inn  half  a  mile  from  the  town,  but 
another  set  on  me,  and  had  it  not  been  for  Monsieur 
Deschamps  there,  who  twisted  his  neck  for  him,  there 
would  have  been  no  Jules  Gironde  to  quaff  your  wine 
to-day.  Think  of  it!' 

Jules's  voice  broke.  He  was  growing  pathetic 
about  himself. 

Neil  Darroch,  bowing  his  acknowledgments  to  the 
applause  this  statement  called  forth,  wondered  how  he 
was  to  get  his  friend  home. 

'  But  that,'  said  the  Gascon,  '  was  a  mere  bagatelle. 
My  triumph  came  when  in  a  staff  officer  I  detected 
a  spy ;  and  how,  you  ask  ?  By  his  green  panta- 
loons, as  I  am  an  old  soldier — the  breeches  of  Artois' 
guards,  which  he  had  forgotten  to  change!  Pouf! 
he  would  not  have  done  for  the  Emperor's  service. 
He  deserved  a  firing-party,  but  they  let  him  go.' 

'  They  let  too  many  go,'  said  the  civilian.  '  Fouche 
is  a  snake  in  the  grass,  whose  head  should  come  off 
in  the  Place  de  Greve,  and  there  are  a  dozen  others 
who  would  be  better  under  lock  and  key.' 

'  You  are  right,  cousin  Maxime,'  answered  Gironde. 
'  It  is  the  Emperor's  only  fault.  Like  me,  he  has  too 
kind  a  heart.'  And  forthwith  the  emotional  Gascon 
cried  softly  to  himself. 

There  was  no  more  to  be  got  out  of  Gironde  that  day, 
and  the  civilian,  Maxime  Despard,  who  had  gone  with 
the  royal  army  to  Fontainebleau,  took  up  the  tale. 

'  Since  the  davs  of  the  Terror  I  cannot  remember 


THE  MARCH  231 

Paris  so  excited  as  it  has  been  since  the  news  came 
of  the  Emperor's  landing  ;  and  this  is  the  way  the 
reports  have  run,  in  geographical  progression,  so 
to  speak  :  "  The  Tiger  has  broken  out  of  his  den." 
"The  Monster  was  three  days  at  sea."  "The 
Scelerat  has  landed  at  Frejus."  "  The  Brigand  has 
arrived  at  Grenoble."  "The  Invader  has  entered 
Lyons."  "  Napoleon  slept  last  night  at  Fontaine- 
bleau."  "  The  Emperor  enters  the  Tuileries  this 
day."  The  last  was  yesterday's  bulletin  ;  what,  then, 
will  be  the  next  ?' 

'  The  next,'  cried  old  Babbitot — '  the  next  is  easy 
to  guess.  It  wiil  be,  "  The  Conqueror  has  again 
conquered.'' ' 

'  So  much,'  said  Neil  Darroch  to  himself — '  so  much 
for  peace  and  liberty.' 

'As  most  of  you  are  aware,'  continued  Despard, 
who  was  a  portly  man  with  a  heavy  cast  of  features, 
'  I  was  attached  to  the  commissariat,  and  so  was  at 
Fontainebleau.  Long  before  I  left  the  capital,  how- 
ever, one  could  see  how  things  were  going.  The 
little  weathercocks  in  Paris  were  turning  with  the 
wind.  There  was  a  placard  posted  on  the  Vendome 
Column,  of  which  Gironde  there  might  have  been  the 
author.  "Napoleon  to  Louis  XVIII.,"  it  ran.  "My 
good  brother,  it  is  useless  to  send  me  any  more  troops. 
I  have  enough."  ' 

'  Superb !'  exclaimed  the  Gascon.  '  As  you  say, 
cousin,  worthy  of  me — of  Jules  Gironde.  Does  any- 
one here  deny  it  ?' 

No  one  apparently  did. 

'  Any  fool  could  have  seen  the  soldiers  would  never 
oppose  Napoleon.  The  day  at  Fontainebleau  merely 
added  to  his  triumph.  It  was  very  different  from  the 
last  time  he  was  there.  The  whole  army  was  drawn 
up  at  Melun  to  give  battle  to  the  Invader,  as  they 
called  him.  It  covered  the  road  to  Paris,  and  we 
waited.  I  have  never  heard  such  stillness  as  reigned 
all  over  the  plain.  There  was  not  a  sound  but  the 


232          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

bands  playing  and  the  orders  of  the  officers.  It  was 
Laffray  over  again  on  a  larger  scale,  though  I  cannot 
describe  it  like  our  friend.  The  ground  slopes  up  to 
the  woods  about  Fontainebleau,  and  no  enemy  was  in 
sight.  Suddenly  we  heard  a  noise.  "  Cavalry  !"  said 
a  man  near  me ;  but  instead  we  saw  a  carriage  emerge 
from  the  forest,  and  a  troop  of  horse.  It  came  rattling 
down  the  road,  and  we  saw  there  were  three  men  in  it. 
They  were  the  Emperor,  with  his  head  bare,  Bertrand 
and  Drouot.  In  a  moment  there  was  one  roar  of 
"  Long  live  the  Emperor  !"  "  It  is  he,  Napoleon — 
Napoleon  the  Great !"  cried  the  veterans,  and  the 
National  Guard  took  up  the  cry.  The  troops  broke 
from  the  ranks  as  the  Emperor  waved  his  hand  to 
them.  Their  leaders,  seeing  that  all  discipline  was 
at  an  end,  took  to  flight,  and  then,  as  if  it  had  been  a 
play  at  the  Opera,  we  saw  the  Old  Guard  come  swing- 
ing down  the  hill  with  the  eagles  at  their  head,  and  a 
band  crashed  into  the  Imperial  March.  Do  you  know 
what  Frederick  the  Great  once  said  ?  He  said  that 
if  the  god  Mars  were  to  select  his  bodyguard  from 
the  inhabitants  of  this  world,  he  would  choose  the 
French  grenadiers.  I,  who  saw  them  at  Fontainebleau, 
can  well  believe  it* 

'  Ay,  ay,  they  are  fine  men !'  growled  Babbit6t ; 
'  but  give  me  the  voltigeurs.' 

'  Everyone  to  his  own  taste/  said  Despard  quietly ; 
'  I  need  tell  you  no  more.  You  saw  them  carry  the 
Emperor  up  the  stairs,  you  saw  how  they  divided 
the  flap  of  his  coat,  you  know  how  it  has  ended.  I 
am  a  quiet  man,  gentlemen,  and  I  have  a  wife  and 
family,  but  I  would  give  ten  ,years  of  my  life  for  the 
Emperor  to  pinch  my  ear  as  he  pinched  Bertrand's 
this  morning,  and  to  say  to  me  as  he  said  to  him, 
"  This  brave  fellow  has  never  abandoned  me." ' 

'  Bravo,  Maxime!'  cried  Gironde  ;  'you  have  done 
well.  Once  more,  and  for  the  last  time,  the 
Emperor !' 

'The  Emperor!'  echoed  the  others. 


THE  MARCH  233 

1  There  is  a  rumour  about  that  a  plot  has  been  dis- 
covered to  blow  him  up,'  said  one  of  the  company. 

'  What !'  cried  the  Gascon,  staggering  to  his  feet ; 
'you  listen  to  such  stuff  as  that?  When  you  want 
information,  do  not  take  it  from  any  common  spy, 
sir,  but  apply  to  me — to  me,  Jules  Gironde,  of  the 
secret  service.  Let  us  be  going,  friend  Noel.' 

On  Neil's  arm  the  little  man  left  the  room,  trying 
hard  to  master  his  wayward  legs. 

'  Steady,  steady !'  said  Neil,  as  Jules  lurched  up 
against  him. 

'  It  is  easy  to  command,  but  not  to  obey,'  muttered 
Gironde  ;  '  for  I  am  very  drunk,  yes,  very  drunk,  but 
not  for  myself,  you  understand,  Monsieur  Deschamps 
— not  for  myself.'  He  came  to  a  stop  and  made  a 
feeble  attempt  at  the  salute.  '  Pour  1'Empereur!'  he 
mumbled,  and  resigned  himself  to  Neil  Darroch's 
care. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  ASSASSINS 

FAITHFULLY  and  fully  as  Gironde  had  told 
his  tale,  there  was  yet  one  incident  he  did 
not    record,   though   it   was   far   from    being 
unimportant.    The  reason  is  simple  :  he  was  unaware 
that  it  had  occurred. 

Carlo  Massoni,  after  being  baffled  in  his  attempt 
to  revenge  himself  upon  the  Gascon,  saw,  or  thought 
he  saw,  an  excellent  opportunity  to  take  vengeance 
on  more  than  Jules  Gironde.  There  were  now  in 
Elba  three  men  with  whom  he  had  accounts  to 
settle — the  Emperor,  his  servant,  and  the  stranger 
who  called  himself  Noel  Deschamps. 

Therefore  Massoni  determined  to  visit  that  island 
at  an  early  date.  He  would  no  doubt  have  done  so 
had  not  Providence  determined  otherwise.  It  is  a 


234         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

dangerous  thing  at  any  time  to  kill  a  Corsican  and 
remain  in  Corsica. 

Vezzani  had  a  brother,  and  that  brother  was  not 
satisfied  as  to  the  way  in  which  Vezzani  had  met  his 
death.  When  he  found  that,  as  Gironde  had  sur- 
mised, Massoni  had  been  in  no  hurry  to  save  the 
Villa  Olima  from  the  flames,  his  suspicions  were  con- 
firmed. Vezzani's  body  was  not  so  charred  and 
destroyed  but  that  he  could  detect  some  trace  of  a 
wound  in  the  chest.  This,  coupled  with  the  account 
of  what  had  happened  on  the  eventful  morning,  and 
with  the  evidence  of  the  boy,  who  had  been  found 
trussed  up  like  a  fowl,  was  enough  for  Vezzani's 
brother.  He  took  a  solemn  oath  to  put  a  bullet  in 
Carlo  Massoni,  and  he  kept  his  vow. 

He  himself  was  promptly  despatched  by  men  sent 
in  pursuit,  and  he  would  not  have  died  quite  so 
satisfied  with  himself  as  he  did  had  he  known  that 
Massoni's  wound,  though  severe,  was  not  fatal.  It 
was,  however,  sufficient  to  lay  that  dangerous  villain 
by  the  heels  for  several  long  and  weary  months,  and 
to  keep  him  out  of  mischief  for  even  a  lengthier 
period. 

Eventually  he  did  recover,  and,  far  from  being 
chastened  in  spirit,  was  as  anxious  as  ever  to  carry 
out  his  nefarious  designs. 

This,  he  speedily  discovered,  was  no  easy  matter. 
Elba  was  guarded,  and  it  was  known  that  one  of  the 
assassins  of  Georges,  a  bloodthirsty  wretch,  had  been 
sent  to  Corsica  in  the  hope  that  he  might  get  access 
to  Napoleon's  person.  Therefore  Corsica  was  watched. 

Fortune  favours  the  brave,  however,  and  up  to  this 
time  in  his  chequered  career  no  one  had  been  able  to 
accuse  Carlo  Massoni  of  cowardice.  He  renewed  his 
acquaintance  with  the  governor,  Bruslart,  a  man  as 
unscrupulous  as  himself,  who  formed  plan  after  plan 
for  getting  Buonaparte  into  his  power. 

This  creature  of  the  Bourbons  one  day  sent  for 
Massoni,  who  was  haunting  Bastia  like  a  restless  and 


THE  ASSASSINS  235 

evil  spirit,  and  gave  him  some  information  which  was 
much  to  his  liking. 

'  I  have  news/  said  he,  '  that  three  days  hence 
Napoleon  expects  a  certain  visitor,  who  is  to  sail  in  a 
felucca  from  Leghorn.  What  his  arrival  portends  it 
would  be  hard  to  say,  but  I  think  it  would  be  well, 
Signer  Massoni,  if  the  Governor  of  Corsica  were  to 
interview  him  before  the  King  of  Elba.' 

Massoni  bowed,  and  his  face  expressed  his  desire 
to  learn  more. 

'  There  are  few  men  I  can  trust  in  this  accursed 
island,'  continued  Bruslart — '  as  regards  this  matter,  I 
mean,  but  you  are  one  of  them.' 

Again  Massoni  bowed,  as  if  endorsing  this  state- 
ment. In  reality,  he  did  not  believe  it  for  a  moment. 
He  knew  himself  better  than  did  Bruslart. 

'  It  is  then,'  the  latter  explained,  '  my  intention  to 
send  out  a  vessel  well  armed,  and  with  a  numerous 
crew,  to  intercept  this  felucca  and  bring  the  emissary 
here.  He  may  carry  important  papers,  he  may 
not,  but  he  will  have  a  tongue  in  his  head,  and 
I  have  means  to  make  him  use  it.  You  under- 
stand me?' 

'  One  would  be  a  fool  if  he  did  not,'  replied  Massoni. 

*  Very  good,  signor  ;  then  will  you  accept  command 
of  this  little  expedition  ?  It  will  merely  be  a  pleasant 
trip,  and  the  weather  promises  well.' 

Massoni  was  too  crafty  to  jump  at  the  offer.  He 
made  numerous  inquiries,  he  haggled  over  the  price 
of  his  services,  and  at  last,  as  he  had  intended  from 
the  first,  he  accepted. 

A  fast  schooner  was  placed  at  his  disposal,  and  in 
the  night  she  cleared  out  of  the  harbour,  and  headed 
for  the  north-east.  Everything  down  to  a  certain 
point  happened  as  Bruslart  had  designed  it  should 
happen. 

The  felucca,  when  two  days  out  from  Leghorn,  was 
sighted  and  overhauled.  There  was  no  resistance. 
On  board  her  was  a  single  passenger,  who  carried 


236          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

himself  with  a  military  air,  and  wore  a  long  blue 
cloak,  suspiciously  like  a  French  officer's.  This  indi- 
vidual's language  was  excessively  violent.  So  harm- 
less had  been  the  schooner's  movements,  so  ignorant 
was  he  of  all  matters  pertaining  to  the  sea,  that  he 
did  not  realize  he  was  in  danger  till  Massoni's  men 
came  crowding  over  the  side.  He  had  no  time  to 
remove  a  cipher  hidden  in  the  heel  of  one  of  his  boots. 
He  fervently  trusted  it  would  remain  hidden,  but 
Massoni  had  not  wandered  half  round  the  globe  for 
nothing. 

The  felucca  continued  her  voyage  unharmed,  but 
with  a  different  crew,  and  with  Carlo  Massoni  in  a 
completely  different  set  of  clothes,  for  the  emissary 
was  a  man  much  of  his  own  size.  The  original 
wearer  of  the  blue  cloak  and  the  frock-coat  was  con- 
veyed in  the  schooner  to  Bastia,  where  Bruslart 
threatened  to  murder  him,  and  cursed  Massoni  till 
the  emissary  thanked  him. 

There  was  a  ball  in  progress  at  Porto  Ferrajo,  one 
of  the  many  which  Napoleon  organized,  and  which  he 
attended  as  a  rule  with  a  very  bad  grace,  disgusted 
at  the  plebeian  company  in  which  he  found  himself. 
This  night,  however,  he  wore  a  more  lively  air,  chatted 
freely  with  several  of  the  leading  inhabitants,  and 
himself  led  the  applause  which  greeted  the  efforts  of 
the  musicians. 

He  was  now  looking  stout  and  well,  his  movements 
were  brisk,  his  voice  pleasant.  At  times  a  close 
observer  might  have  fancied  that  his  plump,  sunburnt, 
and  somewhat  bilious  visage  took  on  a  look  of 
expectancy — that  he  glanced  without  cause  at  the 
door.  Otherwise  there  was  nothing  peculiar  in  his 
behaviour.  He  was  courtesy  itself  to  Madame  Mere, 
who  sat  upon  a  raised  dais  and  surveyed  the  groups 
before  her  with  who  can  say  what  ifeelings  ?  She, 
who  had  seen  her  son  moving  hither  and  thither 
amongst  the  most  brilliant  assemblages,  the  cynosure 
of  every  eye,  the  beheld  of  all  beholders,  now 


THE  ASSASSINS  237 

witnessed  him  playing  the  host  to  the  wives  and 
daughters  of  Italian  tradesfolk,  directing  a  gathering 
of  humble  people  with  whom  he  had  nothing  in 
common,  whom  she  knew  he  despised,  but  who  alone, 
of  many  millions,  now  owned  his  sway. 

Colonel  Campbell  was  not  present,  neither  was 
Drouot,  the  Governor ;  but  General  Bertrand,  a  man 
of  few  talents,  but  great  in  his  devotion,  smiled  affably 
upon  the  company,  and  shrugged  his  broad  shoulders 
as  he  thought  of  the  past. 

Suddenly  a  black  face,  surmounted  by  a  turban, 
appeared  at  the  door,  gazed  a  moment  in  the 
Emperor's  direction,  and  then  vanished. 

It  belonged  to  Rustan,  his  body-servant,  and  was  a 
signal  that  the  expected  emissary  had  arrived. 

Napoleon  finished  a  conversation  he  was  holding 
with  an  officer  of  his  guard,  and  crossed  the  room, 
followed  by  Bertrand.  He  bowed  once  or  twice  on 
his  way,  waved  his  hand  as  a  direction  for  the  band 
to  continue,  and  disappeared. 

There  was  not  an  Elban  in  the  saloon  who  did  not 
feel  more  at  his  ease  after  the  short,  thick-set  figure 
in  the  blue  coat  and  white  breeches  had  vanished. 
The  Emperor  exchanged  a  few  words  with  Rustan, 
and  then  mounted  the  stairs  leading  to  his  apart- 
ments. 

He  motioned  Bertrand  to  remain  in  the  ante- 
chamber, and,  unattended,  passed  into  his  private 
room,  which  was  lit  by  a  candelabra. 

He  immediately,  and  without  turning,  closed  the 
door  behind  him,  and  faced  a  tall  man  in  a  blue  cloak 
who  was  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  and  who 
bowed  slightly  as  he  entered. 

*  You  are  late,  sir,'  said  the  Emperor  sharply.  His 
tone  was  harsh  and  imperative. 

'  No,  I  am  not  too  late,'  answered  the  other  quietly, 
though  there  was  a  gleam  in  his  dark  eyes,  and  an 
emphasis  laid  on  the  last  word  but  one. 

Napoleon  advanced  a  couple  of  steps. 


238          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

'  I  permit  none  to  question  what  I  say,'  he  replied  ; 
'  and,  moreover,  it  was  a  mistake  to  travel  in  such  a 
dress.' 

The  man  remained  silent  and  motionless.  What 
was  it  that  kept  him  rooted  to  the  spot,  that  hindered 
him  from  springing  forward  and  driving  home  the 
weapon  grasped  in  his  right  hand  ?  It  was  neither 
more  nor  less  than  the  look  on  the  Emperor's  face. 

Napoleon  had  halted,  and  now  stood  staring  at  him 
intently,  marking  his  increasing  agitation,  noting  the 
tremor  which  had  fastened  upon  him. 

There  was  something  terrifying  in  the  Emperor's 
gaze ;  his  lips  were  tightly  shut,  his  chin  thrust  for- 
ward, his  neck  sunk  between  his  shoulders,  his  brows 
drawn  down  into  a  frown,  and  there  was  a  glitter  in 
his  eyes  which  by  the  candle-light  looked  almost 
black.  It  was  as  if  he  were  reading  the  man's  soul. 

1  What  are  you  here  for?'  he  asked  suddenly. 

Carlo  Massoni  started ;  he  threw  back  his  head, 
and  made  as  though  he  would  advance. 

'  I  am  here  to — to — well,  to  stab  you  to  the  heart !' 
he  stammered  ;  but  his  voice  shook. 

'  Then,  why  waste  time  ?'  was  the  answer — '  your 
own  time  and  mine.  Are  you  aware  that  two  minutes 
have  passed  since  I  first  saw  you  ?' 

Again  there  was  silence,  broken  only  by  the  sound 
of  a  man  breathing  heavily. 

'  Have  done  with  this  folly !'  said  the  Emperor 
sternly.  '  I  am  not  destined  for  the  stiletto,  and  you 
were  not  destined  to  use  it  against  such  as  I.' 

Massoni's  white  teeth  fastened  fiercely  on  his  under- 
lip.  He  was  cursing  himself,  but  he  was  powerless. 
He  had  been  mastered  by  a  master  mind. 

Napoleon  turned  his  back  upon  him  and  pulled 
open  the  door. 

'  Bertrand  !'  he  called  out. 

'  Sire  !' 

'  There  has  been  a  slight  mistake  here.  You  will 
see  that  this  person  is  searched,  and  then  that  he 


THE  ASSASSINS  239 

quits  the  island  this  night  There  must  be  no  dis- 
turbance, no  whisper  as  to  his  presence.' 

'  Go !'  he  added,  wheeling  round  and  pointing  with 
his  finger.  '  Go,  sir,  and  profit  by  what  you  have 
seen  and  heard.' 

Carlo  Massoni  went.  Many  a  time  and  oft  was 
he  to  ask  himself  bitterly  what  had  possessed  him 
to  let  pass  the  chance  for  which  he  had  waited  and 
watched.  All  had  gone  well.  Gironde  was  absent 
at  Longone  ;  none  had  suspected  him  ;  the  cipher 
had  been  an  efficient  passport,  and  yet  he  had  failed. 
The  buffoon  at  whom  he  had  sneered  was  in  his 
power,  alone,  unarmed.  He  had  meant  to  strike  at 
once,  and  yet — Carlo  Massoni,  at  last,  had  learned 
that  a  mere  animal  courage  will  not  always  serve  a 
man ;  but  was  it  fear  which  had  unnerved  him  ? 
He  could  not  return  to  Corsica  ;  Elba  was  shut 
against  him,  there  remained  only  Paris — Paris  and 
Craspinat. 

There  was  nothing  noble  about  Massoni ;  he  had 
not  even  Jan  Holland's  admiration  for  a  brave  man ; 
thus,  once  he  recovered  from  his  chagrin  and  de- 
spondency, the  thought  which  came  uppermost  in 
his  mind  was  if  he  might  not  even  yet  accomplish 
his  purpose.  He  dare  not  do  the  deed  with  those 
terrible  eyes  piercing  his  very  brain,  with  that  heavy- 
jawed  face,  set  and  stern,  staring  into  his,  imperious, 
commanding,  with  the  influence  of  that  dread  presence 
upon  him  ;  but  there  was  perhaps  another  method. 

He  was  to  be  doubly  surprised  when  he  reached 
the  house  off  the  Rue  de  Gramont,  for  not  only  had 
it  new  occupants,  but  it  had  lost  an  inhabitant. 
Emile  d'Herbois  was  dead. 

Kate  Ingleby's  troubles  began  with  the  time  when 
Charles  Deschamps  lost  even  what  reason  remained 
to  him,  and  became  a  mere  imbecile,  subject  to  night 
terrors,  scarcely  able  to  feed  or  clothe  himself,  feeble 
in  his  gait,  dirty  in  his  habits,  and  fearful  as  a  child. 

Emile  d'Herbois  would  have  sent  him  to  an  asylum, 


24o         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

but  the  girl  would  not  hear  of  it.  In  those  days  the 
great  Esquirol  was  indeed  living,  but  he  had  scarcely 
begun  his  beneficent  reforms,  and  the  insane  were  too 
often  housed  and  treated  worse  than  the  brute  beasts. 
Kate  had  heard  as  much,  and  was  firm. 

'  He  shall  not  go,'  she  said  quietly.  '  I  would 
never  forgive  myself  if  he  died  in  such  a  place. 
Did  he  not  in  a  way  act  as  my  protector  ?  Did  he 
not  do  his  best  to  help  me  when  Monsieur  Darroch 
was  drunk,  and  threatening  me  with  violence  ?' 

'  But  who  is  to  look  after  him  ?  He  will  need  an 
attendant,'  said  her  uncle  testily. 

'  I  shall  attend  him,'  she  answered  simply,  and  she 
kept  her  word. 

Soon  the  poor  old  man  was  not  happy  unless  she 
were  somewhere  near  him.  He  would  take  no  food 
but  from  her  hands  ;  he  seemed  in  all  his  misery  to 
remember  who  she  was,  and  the  girl,  though  at  times 
she  found  it  in  her  heart  to  wish  that  death  might 
relieve  her  of  her  charge,  and  Charles  Deschamps 
from  his  dementia,  yet  did  her  duty  bravely,  and  to 
her  uncle  appeared  always  bright  and  cheery,  while 
his  old  servant  worshipped  her. 

For  all  that,  Kate  was  never  told  that  such  a 
creature  as  Craspinat  resided  in  the  basement.  If 
Emile  d'Herbois  feared  his  unwelcome  guest,  his 
servant  was  still  more  a  victim  of  terror.  Craspinat 
had  fascinated  her,  and  she  dared  not  disobey. 

Craspinat  was  the  willing  slave  of  Carlo  Massoni ; 
Victorine,  the  servant  of  Emile  d'Herbois,  was  the 
slave  of  Craspinat.  She  was  an  old  woman,  timid 
and  gentle,  and  was  soon  as  helpless  as  a  fly  tangled 
in  the  meshes  of  a  web.  It  was  as  if  Craspinat  had 
sucked  all  the  volition  out  of  her,  and  left  her  a 
mere  automaton. 

If  Kate  Ingleby  had  not  been  so  occupied  in  look- 
ing after  Charles  Deschamps,  she  must  have  noticed 
the  change  which  gradually  came  over  the  house- 
hold, the  unrest,  the  dread,  the  doubt. 


THE  ASSASSINS  241 

It  was  nothing  marked  or  definite,  scarcely  more 
than  a  shadow,  but  it  was  the  shadow  of  Craspinat. 
Even  as  it  was,  the  girl  remarked  her  uncle's  irrita- 
tion, his  worried  appearance,  his  abstraction ;  but 
she  attributed  it  to  ill-health.  She  was  so  far  correct. 
Emile  d'Herbois  was  not  the  man  he  had  been,  other- 
wise he  would  not  have  had  dealings  with  Carlo 
Massoni ;  but  he  had  developed  a  hesitancy,  a  want 
of  decision,  which  is  not  unfrequently  seen  in  men  of 
his  age.  He  resolved  to  tell  his  niece  the  cause  of 
his  trouble,  but  as  usual  imagined  there  was  no  need 
of  haste,  and  was  loath  to  add  to  her  burdens. 

But  he  knew  Craspinat's  secret,  and  on  that  account 
alone  was  doomed.  Moreover,  Craspinat  had  a  plan. 
This  wretched  being  owed  her  life  to  Carlo  Massoni. 
In  his  youth,  before  he  became  a  hardened  ruffian, 
Massoni  was  capable  of  doing  a  kindness.  He  had 
one  day  come  across  an  infuriated  mob  attacking  a 
thing  like  a  hobgoblin,  which  faced  them  with  tooth 
and  nail  '  Kill  the  wizard  !'  the  crowd  had  roared. 
'  To  the  Seine  with  him  !  See  how  his  hair  falls  off — 
he  hath  a  devil !' 

The  wretched  creature,  catching  perhaps  a  gleam  of 
pity  in  Massoni's  eyes,  had  made  a  sudden  dart  to  his 
side,  and  almost  before  he  realized  what  had  happened 
he  found  himself  regarded  as  its  protector.  He  had 
to  fight,  and  fight  he  did,  and  the  creature  fought 
with  him  till  at  last  they  both  won  clear  and  found 
safety. 

Then  he  learned  that  it  was  a  woman  he  had  saved — 
a  woman  to  whom  Nature  had  been  so  unkind,  whose 
life  had  been  so  horrible,  that  as  a  mere  mitigation  of 
her  sufferings,  and  as  a  protection,  she  had  adopted 
a  disguise  which  caused  her  to  be  feared,  and  eventu- 
ally gained  for  her  a  livelihood. 

Since  that  time  he  had  but  to  raise  his  finger,  and 
Craspinat  crawled  to  his  feet.    She  was  his,  body  and 
soul,  and  yet  he  spurned  her.    She  did  not  repine,  and 
her  occupation  consoled  her. 
16 


242          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

It  was  after  his  first  departure  from  Paris  that  she 
conceived  the  idea  of  constructing  an  infernal  machine, 
and  to  this  she  bent  all  her  energies.  She  had  at 
first  no  special  object  in  view  :  it  was  only  her  delight 
in  destruction,  her  unholy  glee  in  doing  something 
which  would  make  her  famous,  and  the  mere  wild  ex- 
citement produced  by  working  with  deadly  materials, 
an  unhealthy  excitement  such  as  she  craved  for  ever 
since  the  days  of  the  Terror,  that  induced  her  to 
occupy  herself.  Latterly,  however,  influenced  by 
Massoni's  wild  words,  by  the  talk  of  the  populace,  she 
had  fixed  on  one  as  a  victim,  on  one  who  alone  was 
worthy  to  perish  by  the  famous  bomb  of  Craspinat. 
She  determined  to  procure  imperishable  fame  for 
herself  by  destroying  Napoleon. 

To  this  end  she  worked,  but  kept  her  designs  a 
dead  secret,  to  be  revealed  in  time  to  Carlo  Massoni, 
who  would  surely  give  her  a  word  of  praise  and  join 
with  her  in  the  great  enterprise.  So  said  Craspinat 
to  herself. 

This,  however,  as  has  been  hinted,  was  not  Cras- 
pinat's  only  plan.  The  other  was  the  destruction  of 
Emile  d'Herbois.  She  knew,  for  Massoni  had  told 
her,  the  fate  of  the  money  which  was  to  have  aided 
the  cause  of  the  Jacobins.  She  determined  this 
money  should  become  Massoni's.  It  is  true  she 
might  have  killed  Kate  Ingleby,  but  she  was  wise. 
She  might  have  to  acknowledge  failure  in  her  attempt 
on  D'Herbois'  life,  and  it  would  be  well  that  the  girl 
should  remain,  as  then  Massoni  might  wed  her  and 
secure  the  fortune. 

'After  that !'  said  Craspinat,  and  cackled  to 

herself,  for  Craspinat  could  be  jealous. 

But  it  was  decreed  that  she  should  not  still  further 
burden  her  soul  with  blood-guiltiness,  and  yet  that 
things  should  favour  her  designs.  Craspinat  had 
one  pleasure  in  life,  a  pleasure  which  was  in  keeping 
with  her  repulsive  nature.  It  was  the  joy  of  a  daily 
visit  to  what  is  now  called  'la  Morgue.'  She  was 


THE  ASSASSINS  243 

ever  the  first  to  appear  at  that  ghastly  abode  of  the 
dead,  and  feast  her  perverted  senses  on  the  gruesome 
and  the  horrible,  and  it  so  happened  that  there  she 
met  Emile  d'Herbois,  who  had  been  found  dead  in 
the  streets,  laid  out  upon  a  slab.  He  had  played 
with  time,  and  time  for  him  had  changed  suddenly  to 
eternity  ;  for  his  heart  was  soft  in  texture  as  well  as 
in  sentiment ;  it  had  in  a  moment  ceased  to  act. 

Craspinat  chuckled  and  scuttled  back  to  the  house 
off  the  Rue  de  Gramont,  where  all  slept,  save, 
perhaps,  poor  Charles  Deschamps.  Then  Craspinat 
made  a  search,  found  certain  papers,  and  descended 
with  them  to  the  basement 

To  Kate  Ingleby  her  uncle's  death  came  as  a  heavy 
shock.  He  had  always  been  kind,  and  he  was  her 
one  relative  on  earth.  But  another  shock  awaited 
her.  The  notary  came — a  dry,  cold  man  of  law. 
He  fussed  and  fumed,  for  though  he  had  a  legal 
bearing,  he  was  none  the  less  a  Frenchman.  He 
knew  the  conditions  of  the  will,  but  there  was  no  will 
to  be  found.  There  were  no  papers  or  drafts  even 
which  would  procure  the  money  he  knew  belonged 
to  D'Herbois'  niece — the  girl,  beautiful  as  Marie 
Antoinette,  the  notary  told  himself  (he  was  a  French- 
man and  married),  who  showed  a  marvellous  self- 
control,  and  had  her  uncle  buried  in  the  Protestant 
fashion,  despite  the  lawyer's  remonstrances. 

Emile  d'Herbois  had  been  what  he  called  a  Theist, 
and  in  life  had  never  let  a  priest  poke  his  prying  nose 
within  the  door. 

Kate  Ingleby,  daughter  of  a  Puritan,  resolved  to 
respect  his  wishes,  but  in  doing  so  she  made  an 
enemy  of  the  notary,  who  was  not  so  thorough  in  his 
search  as  he  might  otherwise  have  been.  The  result 
was  that  Craspinat  and  her  doings  remained  un- 
known. Victorine,  ignorant  and  superstitious,  would 
not  have  opened  her  lips  for  untold  gold.  Had  not 
Craspinat  even  prophesied  her  master's  death?  A 
man  who  could  do  this  could  do  anything. 
1 6 — 2 


244         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

Kate  Ingleby  further  angered  the  notary  by  her 
replies  to  his  manifold  questions.  It  seemed  to  him 
she  was  trying  to  conceal  something.  And  he  was 
right.  The  girl  knew  what  had  been  her  uncle's 
chief  desire  in  life,  and  now  that  he  was  dead  and 
the  papers  missing,  a  suspicion  crossed  her  mind. 
She  strove  to  throw  it  aside,  but  could  not.  She  now 
thought  there  had  been  another  reason  for  the  change 
in  Emile  d'Herbois — that  he  had  harboured  a  guilty 
conscience.  She  feared  that,  after  all  his  protesta- 
tions, he  had  used  the  money  for  his  own  ends.  She 
was  unjust,  but  scarcely  to  blame,  for,  as  has  been 
said,  Emile  d'Herbois  had  a  sinister  expression,  and 
one  is  apt  to  judge  a  man  by  his  appearance.  It  was 
this  fear  that  kept  her  lips  sealed.  She  would  not 
for  a  moment  hint  at  it,  and  so  she  found  herself  well 
nigh  a  beggar.  The  house  was  old,  and  she  was  per- 
mitted to  stay  in  it  for  the  time  being,  much  to  her 
relief ;  but  she  had  no  friends,  and  hers  was  the  pride 
which  will  not  suffer  charity. 

A  brilliant  idea  came  to  her,  and  she  acted  upon  it 
with  that  straightforwardness  and  decision  which 
were  her  father's  legacy.  She  made  use  of  her 
wonderful  voice. 

At  first  she  had  a  hard  struggle,  but  eventually  a 
way  was  opened  up  to  her.  In  what  consisted  her 
success  will  yet  be  evident,  but  before  it  reached 
its  height  Carlo  Massoni  appeared  upon  the  scene. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  AUDIENCE 

^1  "HE  first  few  weeks  after  the  Emperor's  arrival 

•         in  the  capital  were  sufficiently  lively  to  divert 

Neil's  thoughts  from  the  gloomy  channel  yi 

which  they  had  coursed.     Paris  was   in   a   state  of 

ferment,  full  of  fear  and  rumours,  crowded  to  excess, 


THE  AUDIENCE  245 

at  first  delirious  with  joy,  then  sullen  and  apathetic. 
Gironde  was  here,  there,  and  everywhere ;  and  for 
the  first  time  Neil  perceived  that  the  Gascon,  when  he 
settled  to  work,  was  a  man  of  c^reat  ability.  His 
bombast  and  his  excitement  both  vanished  in  lanje 
measure.  He  became  crafty  and  secretive,  though  in 
Neil's  presence  he  spoke  freely  enough.  The  city 
was  a  perfect  hotbed  of  conspiracy.  Plots  were 
being  hatched  by  half  a  dozen  different  parties — by 
the  royalists,  by  republicans,  by  mere  gold-greedy 
desperadoes ;  but  their  object  was  the  same — to  com- 
pass the  death  of  the  Emperor. 

Neil  Darroch,  whatever  his  views,  had  no  sympathy 
with  such  villainy.  Together  they  visited  the  cafe's  and 
wine-shops.  A  favourite  hunting-ground  of  Gironde's 
was  the  Cafe  Montansier,  in  the  Palais  Royal,  where 
congregated  hundreds  of  officers  who  had  served  in 
the  late  wars.  Here  they  gave  themselves  to  a  mad 
revelry,  men  of  nearly  every  European  nation  vying 
with  each  other  in  drinking  bumpers  to  the  coming 
campaign,  which  was  the  hope  of  every  one  of  them, 
embracing  each  other  as  some  popular  song  stirred  up 
old  recollections,  shouting  choruses,  and  yelling  them- 
selves hoarse. 

Even  here  the  Gascon  found  his  victims,  and 
tracked  them  to  their  lairs,  where  the  hand  of  Fouche, 
Chief  of  Police,  fell  heavily  on  them  if  it  was  thought 
worth  while  to  make  an  example. 

Gironde  was  hopeful  as  ever.  He  did  not  seem  to 
observe,  as  did  Neil,  that  most  of  the  enthusiasm  was 
limited  to  the  army.  The  populace  were  indifferent. 
All  they  wanted  was  a  settled  government  and  the 
peace  to  which  France  had  been  so  long  a  stranger. 
They  fancied  at  first  that  it  had  returned  with 
Napoleon,  and  it  was  not  the  Emperor,  but  what  they 
imagined  he  represented,  that  they  had  welcomed. 
Most  significant  was  the  cry  of  the  working  class  : 
4  The  great  Contractor  has  returned  ;  we  shall  now  eat 
bread !'  By  way  of  answer  came  the  great  review  in 


246          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

the  Place  Carrousel,  which  spelt  defiance.  The  people 
had  asked  for  bread  ;  it  was  evident  to  any  thoughtful 
man  that,  instead  of  bread,  they  were  likely  to  be 
given  war. 

'  We  are  on  the  point  of  marching,'  said  the 
Emperor  to  his  battalions, '  to  drive  from  our  terri- 
tory the  auxiliaries  of  foreign  princes.  The  nation 
will,  no  doubt,  second  our  endeavours  and  follow  our 
impulse.' 

The  nation  had  no  desire  to  do  one  thing  or  the 
other.  As  the  days  ran  into  weeks  there  were  signs 
of  a  general  depression.  From  every  side  came  word 
of  gathering  armies.  It  was  apparent  that  Europe 
was  summoning  all  her  forces  to  grapple  with  her 
ancient  foe.  It  was  reported  that  Napoleon  was 
gloomy  and  in  poor  health,  that  the  National  Guard 
was  disaffected,  that  there  were  traitors  in  the  Cabinet, 
and  even  in  the  army. 

Meanwhile,  Gironde  fell  ill,  and  Neil  Darroch  had 
at  length  an  opportunity  of  showing  his  gratitude  for 
the  many  kindnesses  he  had  received  at  the  hands  of 
the  Gascon.  The  illness  was  a  touch  of  malaria, 
which  kept  Jules  in  bed,  much  to  his  disgust,  though 
he  was  thankful  to  have  such  an  able  substitute  as 
Neil  proved  himself  to  be. 

'  You  would  have  made  a  good  advocate,  though  a 
doubtful  judge,  my  friend,'  said  Gironde  to  him  ;  '  but 
you  will  be  an  excellent  politician.  In  my  profession 
you  would  not  excel,  though  you  have  done  well  so 
far.  Why?  you  ask.  Simply  because  you  are  six 
feet  three  inches.  In  the  secret  service  there  is  no 
room  for  giants — you  would  soon  be  known  to  every 
gossip.  We  spies  must  be  common  looking  fellows 
like  myself.  I  do  not  mean  that  we  must  be  ugly 
— as  a  young  man  I  have  made  more  than  one  heart 
flutter  like  a  little  canary  bird — but  we  must  be  of 
ordinary  build. 

'  A  moderate-sized  man  may  add  to  his  inches  or 
alter  his  appearance,  but  a  steeple  such  as  you  are 


THE  AUDIENCE  247 

remains  a  steeple,  or  becomes  round  in  the  back, 
which  is  still  worse.  Now,  my  boy,  as  you  do  not 
fancy  handling  a  musket  for  a  year  or  two,  your  ambi- 
tion must  be  the  portfolio,  and  I  shall  give  you  your 
chance.  While  you  have  been  poking  your  big  nose 
into  odd  corners  and  getting  yourself  disliked,  I  have 
been  drawing  up  a  report  which  must  go  to  Fouche. 
I  do  not  believe  in  writing  when  one  has  a  tongue  in 
one's  head,  but  the  matter  is  important,  and  it  is  also 
important  that  you  should  come  under  the  notice  of 
those  in  authority.  This  will  procure  for  you  an 
audience,  and  your  wits  must  do  the  rest.  Now,  no 
refusal,  my  friend  ;  I  ask  it  as  a  favour.  I  know  your 
heart  is  not  with  us,  but  I  know  also  that  you  have 
not  been  well  treated.  Once  you  have  an  object  in 
view,  you  will  live,  as  I  do,  to  serve  the  greatest  man 
on  earth ;  and  I  am  much  mistaken  if  you  do  not 
serve  him  faithfully. 

1  Let  me  now  explain  your  mission.  You  think 
you  know  all  that  Jules  Gironde  has  been  doing 
during  the  past  week.  There  you  are  wrong.  Believe 
me,  I  do  not  doubt  you,  but  it  is  best  to  keep  some 
things  to  one's  self.  I  discovered,  just  before  this 
miserable  shivering  and  sweating  pounced  on  me,  a 
new  conspiracy.  It  is  remarkable  because  there  are 
few  concerned  in  it.  As  a  result,  it  is  all  the  more 
likely  to  succeed.  What  is  more,  there  is  a  woman 
in  the  business,  and  women  are  the  very  devil  in  an 
affair  of  this  kind  !  Last  night  I  got  fresh  informa- 
tion— never  mind  from  what  source.  You,  you  old 
Huguenot,  are  not  so  indispensable  as  you  imagine. 
The  plot  is  not  ripe  ;  indeed,  I  know  very  little  about 
it  as  yet,  but  I  shall  be  out  in  two  days,  and  then 
they  had  better  look  after  their  necks. 

'  For  all  that,  I  should  never  be  forgiven  if  I  did  not 
send  early  information;  and, besides,  I  have  now  rivals.' 
The  Gascon  sighed  heavily.  '  I  repeat,  I  have  rivals. 
In  the  old  days  I  was  supreme.  When  we  have 
leisure  I  may  tell  you  how  I  became  known  at  every 


248         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

Court,  how  I  made  my  name  once  and,  as  I  thought, 
for  ever.  Alas  !  I  find  I  am  forgotten  by  some  of 
them,  but  we  must  remedy  that ;  though,  after  all,  if 
the  Emperor  is  satisfied,  it  is  not  of  much  account. 
But  they  are  all  babes  and  sucklings  compared  with 
me,  and  I  have  the  first  clue  here,  at  any  rate.  I 
benefit  myself,  I  benefit  you — two  birds  with  one 
stone.  You  do  not  refuse  me  this  small  favour  ?' 

'  I  would  be  a  cur  if  I  did,'  answered  Neil  Darroch. 

'  You  are  a  good  fellow,  Noel,  though  you  would 
be  better  still  had  your  mother  wed  a  Frenchman  ; 
but  now  let  me  tell  you  the  kind  of  man  you  are 
going  to  meet.  Between  ourselves,  Fouch6  is  the 
greatest  rascal  unhung.  The  Orator,  as  they  call 
him,  is  worse  than  the  Bishop,  and  that  is  saying  a 
good  deal,  for  Talleyrand  is  the  most  cunning  rogue 
in  Christendom !  Fouche*  is  not  such  a  fox,  but  he  is 
more  of  a  wolf ;  he  is  greedy,  he  is  treacherous,  but, 
unlike  the  wolf,  he  is  bold ;  one  may  best  compare 
him  to  a  hungry  wolf.  He  has  been  useful  to  the 
Emperor,  but  I  know  that  Napoleon  hates  him.  In 
my  opinion,  his  head  should  part  company  with  his 
shoulders  to-morrow,  for  no  one  can  say  what  game 
he  is  now  playing. 

'  However,  that  is  not  our  business.  Answer  him 
shortly  and  without  hesitation,  but  it  is  best  to  appear 
a  little  stupid  and  dull.  He  has  a  great  contempt  for 
a  fool,  and  will  not  trouble  you  much  if  you  appear 
vacant  and  reply  in  monosyllables.  Men  who 
have  tried  to  appear  too  clever  have  suffered  before 
now,  for  he  is  always  on  the  outlook  for  people  who 
might  suspect  him  and  prove  troublesome.  I  shall 
never  forget  my  first  interview  with  him.  Some  day 
I  shall  tell  it  you.  We  understand  each  other  now,  I 
think,  though  he  was  but  ill-pleased  to  find  me  very 
much  alive.  No  matter ;  remember  what  I  have  told 
you,  and  keep  your  tongue  in  check.  You  will  prob- 
ably be  insulted  a  dozen  times  in  as  many  minutes, 
but  you  must  neither  lash  him  with  the  one  weapon 


THE  AUDIENCE  249 

nor  pound  him  with  the  other.'  And  Gironde  laugh- 
ingly touched  Neil's  heavy  knuckles.  '  Here  is  a 
passport  for  the  gate.  You  enter  by  the  door  on  the 
right  of  the  square.  I  shall  expect  you  in  an  hour  at 
most,  as  you  will  go  and  come  in  a  hackney  coach. 
Adieu,  my  friend,  and  may  this  be  your  first  step  to 
the  Ministry.' 

Neil  laughed  dryly,  and  set  off  without  delay.  He 
was  just  a  trifle  excited  as  he  rattled  over  the  cause- 
way stones.  He  had  put  from  him  all  desire  of 
advancement,  he  regarded  himself  as  a  man  with  a 
career  blasted  ;  there  had  crept  into  his  mind  a  con- 
viction that  a  curse  was  upon  him  which  was  pursuing 
him  to  some  bitter  termination.  But  he  was  young. 
Despite  his  melancholy,  his  spirits  would  now  and 
then  rise,  and  he  would  build  castles  in  the  air,  and 
dream  of  great  undertakings  and  mighty  achieve- 
ments. Such  fits  were  momentary,  but  one  of  them 
fastened  upon  him  now  as,  with  a  bundle  of  sealed 
papers  in  the  breast-pocket  of  his  coat,  he  drove  along 
the  Rue  de  Rivoli  to  the  gates  of  the  ancient  palace, 
once  the  abode  of  kings,  now  that  of  the  man  who 
was  defying  the  armed  might  of  Europe. 

He  had  no  difficulty  in  being  admitted,  and  was 
respectfully  attended  by  a  servant  in  a  gorgeous 
livery  of  blue  and  silver.  As  they  proceeded  along 
a  passage  decorated  by  a  double  row  of  statues  they 
met  a  tall  man  in  an  undress  uniform,  whom  Neil  at 
once  recognised  as  General  Bertrand.  He  stopped 
and  exchanged  a  few  words  with  the  lacquey. 

'  You  wish  to  see  the  Duke  of  Otranto,  I  under- 
stand ?'  he  said,  turning  to  Neil,  who,  however,  was 
ignorant  of  Fouch^'s  title,  and  so  replied  : 

'  I  have  a  report  for  the  Minister  of  the  Police.' 

'  Quite  so  ;  then  be  good  enough  to  come  with  me. 
You  can  retire,'  he  added,  with  a  nod  to  the  servant, 
and  led  the  way  from  one  corridor  to  another  till  Neil 
was  fairly  bewildered  by  the  ramifications  of  the  huge 
palace. 


250         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

At  last  they  stopped  before  a  door  in  front  of 
which  was  hung  a  heavy  curtain.  Bertrand  rapped 
thrice  upon  the  panels  and  entered  at  once,  beckoning 
Neil  to  follow. 

A  man  was  standing  looking  out  of  a  window 
which  commanded  a  view  of  the  garden.  He  wheeled 
round  as  he  heard  their  footsteps,  and  advanced 
rapidly  towards  them.  It  was  the  Emperor.  He 
was  dressed  in  a  plain  blue  coat,  with  a  single  star 
upon  the  left  breast,  breeches  of  a  brown  nankeen, 
and  black  silk  stockings.  A  single  glance  at  his  face 
told  Neil  Darroch  that  rumour  for  once  spoke  the 
truth.  This  was  not  the  same  man  who  had  led 
them  at  an  astonishing  rate  from  the  shores  of  the 
Mediterranean  to  the  banks  of  the  Seine.  His  jaws 
had  become  lean,  his  eyes  were  dull  and  heavy.  He 
had  lost  flesh  everywhere,  save  round  the  waist.  His 
former  appearance  of  a  comfortable  plumpness  was 
gone.  His  clothes  seemed  to  hang  loosely  on  him, 
his  paunch  was  pendulous.  He  was  clearly  unhealthy. 
For  all  that,  his  manner  was  brisk  and  alert. 

'  Who  is  this  man  ?'  he  asked.  He  nodded 
vigorously  as  Bertrand  told  him.  'We  shall  make 
you  a  diplomatist  yet,  Count,'  he  laughed,  and  then 
bent  his  gaze  on  Neil  Darroch.  '  I  have  seen  you 
before,'  he  said  sharply. 

'  Yes,  sire.'     Instinctively  Neil  gave  him  his  title. 

'  But  where,  sir,  where  ?'  he  asked  impatiently. 

'  On  board  the  brig  off  the  coast  of  Elba.' 

'  Ha !  to  be  sure  !  you  are  the  grenadier  who  came 
on  board  with  Gironde — at  least,  you  should  have 
been  a  grenadier,  and  flank  man  of  your  company. 
Instead,  what  did  you  say  you  were  ?' 

'  An  advocate,  sire.' 

*  A  lawyer  ?  A  bad  trade,  sir,  but,  like  that  of  the 
surgeon,  necessary ;  the  latter  lops  off  limbs,  the 
former  patrimonies.  Both  operations  are  meant  to 
show  us  how  little  we  are,  how  easily  we  may  be 
crippled.  But  the  surgeon  is  greater  than  the  lawyer 


THE  AUDIENCE  251 

—a  single  surgeon  is  worse  than  a  whole  congress  of 
them.  Ah !  Bertrand,  that  is  so,  is  it  not  ?' 

1  It  depends  upon  the  subject,  I  should  say,'  answered 
the  Count 

'  Precisely ;  but  what  is  your  name,  young  man  ?' 

'  Noel  Deschamps.' 

'  Deschamps  ?  I  have  heard  it  before.  Your  accent 
is  strange ;  what  was  your  birthplace  ?' 

'  I  am  half  a  Scotchman,  and  was  born  in  that 
country.' 

'  In  Scotland  ;  I  see,  your  father  being  French.  Do 
you  know,  Bertrand,  that  I  was  once  supposed  to  be  a 
Scotchman  myself?' 

'  Impossible,  sire !' 

'  So  it  would  seem,  yet  the  London  journals  gave 
credence  to  the  report.  They  called  me  a  poor 
fellow  Oswald  who  was  a  member  of  a  club  I  fre- 
quented, and  with  whom  they  asserted  I  changed 
names.  He  was  killed  in  La  Vendee — that  is  to  say,  I 
was  killed  and  Oswald  became  the  Emperor  Napoleon, 
unhappy  man  that  he  was.' 

The  Emperor  smiled  and  took  snuff  copiously  from 
a  plain  wooden  box.  He  was  clearly  in  a  good 
humour. 

'  And  so  you  followed  me  to  Elba  with  that  faithful 
fellow  Gironde.  What  have  you  done  since  ?' 

'  I  have  continued  to  follow  you,  sire/  said  Neil 
quietly. 

'  A  good  answer,  I  allow,  but  that  scarcely  filled 
your  stomach,  young  man  ;  you  did  not  carry  a 
musket.' 

'  I  have  assisted  Monsieur  Gironde.' 

'  And  no  doubt  have  proved  useful.  You  are 
modest ;  that  is  well — the  bravest  men  are  those 
who  say  least  about  themselves.  And  now  what  is 
your  business  with  Fouch£  ? 

1  It  is  with  the  Minister  of  Police,  sire.1 

'What!' 

The  Emperor  made  a  threatening  gesture  ;  but  Neil 


252         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

did  not  flinch,  though  he  noticed  the  gust  of  passion 
which  swept  across  Napoleon's  face,  and  marked  how 
his  smile  vanished  and  his  lips  met  and  were  pressed 
tightly  one  against  another  till  the  colour  left  them. 

'  I  merely  state  that  Monsieur  Gironde,  who  is  ill, 
charged  me  to  deliver  the  despatch  to  the  Minister  of 
Police.  I  am,  as  it  were,  his  servant,  and  must  do  his 
bidding.' 

'You  are  right,  sir,'  said  the  Emperor  coldly, 
'though  your  manners  might  be  improved.  It  so 
happens,  however,  that  Gironde  is  my  servant,  and  so 
is  the  Duke  of  Otranto.  I  therefore  order  you  to 
deliver  those  papers  to  me.' 

Without  a  word  Neil  placed  the  bundle  in  his 
outstretched  hand,  and  then  bowed  and  made  as  if  to 
retire. 

'  A  moment,  sir,'  said  the  Emperor.  '  Do  you  know 
Scotland  well  ?' 

'  It  was  my  home  for  many  years.' 

1  Are  the  people  content  with  being  governed  from 
London  ?' 

'Some  are  not,  sire  ;  the  majority  are  indifferent' 

'  Indifferent  ?  Good  !  I  am  obliged  to  you  for 
your  information,  Monsieur  Deschamps.  You  seem 
to  be  an  intelligent  person,  who  may  yet  come  to 
something.  But  mark  me,  sir,  be  more  careful  in 
your  address.  You  will  convey  my  thanks  to  your 
master ' — he  laid  emphasis  on  the  word — '  and  say  I 
hope  he  may  soon  be  restored  to  health.  And ' — here 
he  reached  up  and  tapped  Neil  lightly  on  the  left 
shoulder — 'on  the  whole,  the  Emperor  is  very  well 
pleased  with  you,  Monsieur  Deschamps,  and  bids  you 
good-day.' 

Neil  Darroch  retired,  not  knowing  whether  to  be 
satisfied  or  angry  at  his  reception.  He  had  often, 
when  in  Edinburgh,  heard  men  boast  of  how  they 
would  face  the  Emperor  of  the  French,  and  defy  him, 
if  need  be — how  they  would  very  quickly  give  the 
upstart  monarch  a  piece  of  their  minds,  and  show 


THE  AUDIENCE  253 

their  sturdy  British  independence.  He  wondered 
what  those  windbags  would  have  done  had  they  been 
in  his  place,  and  seen  for  a  moment  the  Emperor's 
frown,  and  heard  the  harsh,  rasping  tones  of  his 
angry  voice.  He  himself,  with  one  exception,  had 
studied  Napoleon  at  a  distance.  Now  he  understood 
that,  charlatan  or  no  charlatan,  this  man  was  one 
born  to  reign,  one  who  had  reigned  as  no  other  had, 
and  who  would  not  brook  the  slightest  opposition  to 
his  imperial  wishes.  He  marvelled  when  he  remem- 
bered how  meekly  he  had  stood  in  the  presence  of 
this  little  fat  man  and  answered  his  questions.  Had 
he  but  known  it,  he  had  presented  a  braver  front  than 
most  of  those  whose  lot  it  had  been  to  confront 
Buonaparte  in  a  passion.  He  had  done  more :  he 
had  impressed  the  Emperor  by  his  bearing  and  his 
replies. 

As  he  was  driven  swiftly  back  to  his  lodgings  on 
the  south  side  of  the  river,  he  again  began  to  enter- 
tain hopes  that  life  might  yet  hold  something  for  him. 
The  worn,  anxious  expression  on  Napoleon's  face  as 
he  turned  from  the  window  had  roused  in  him  a  feel- 
ing of  pity.  There  was  something  pathetic  as  well 
as  grand  in  this  domineering  spirit  which  had  forced 
the  fallen  monarch  to  make  one  mighty  effort  to 
regain  part,  though  only  a  part,  of  what  he  had  won 
for  himself  by  these  years  of  war  and  intrigue  and 
marvellous  diplomacy. 

There  was  something  stirring  in  the  thought  that 
this  pale,  dejected,  flabby  little  man  was  at  that 
moment  rousing  all  France,  raising  two  millions  of 
warriors  from  an  exhausted  country,  holding  the 
reins  of  government,  and  meeting  plot  with  counter- 
plot ;  that  he  was  the  mainspring  which  had  set  in 
motion  the  vast  mechanism  required  for  a  great 
campaign — the  arsenals,  the  factories,  the  swarms  of 
workmen,  the  military  administrations ;  that  it  was 
against  him,  and  him  only,  that  huge  armaments  were 
moving,  that  England  was  pouring  out  her  gold  like 


254          VENGEANCE   IS   MINE 

water,  that  curses  were  being  cast  by  the  peoples  of 
at  least  six  countries  which  had  learned  to  dread  his 
very  name. 

Whatever  else  he  might  be,  this  man  was  great, 
and  Neil  Darroch  felt  his  greatness  as  he  had  never 
done  before.  He  was  possessed  also  by  a  feeling  of 
importance.  He  had  been  the  bearer  of  a  secret 
message,  the  results  of  which  might  be  very  far- 
reaching.  He  was  playing  a  part  in  the  world's 
politics,  so  to  speak,  and,  however  humble  it  might 
be,  it  was  not  far  removed  from  the  axis  round  which 
most  of  the  civilized  world  was  spinning,  and  had 
been  spinning  for  twenty  years.  The  Emperor  had 
said,  '  On  the  whole,  I  am  very  well  pleased  with  you, 
Monsieur  Deschamps,'  and  for  the  first  time  for  many 
days  Neil  Darroch  also  felt  very  well  satisfied  with 
himself.  His  step  was  buoyant  as  he  climbed  the 
rickety  wooden  stair  which  led  to  the  rooms  he 
inhabited  with  Gironde.  He  found  that  worthy  in  a 
state  of  uncontrollable  excitement. 

Jules  was  out  of  bed,  hastily  dressing  himself, 
bathed  in  perspiration,  and  panting  with  his  exer- 
tions. 

'  It  is  you !'  he  cried,  as  Neil  entered.  '  Thank 
God !  I  never  expected  to  see  you  again.' 

He  threw  himself  into  a  chair  and  wiped  the  beads 
from  his  forehead. 

'  Why,  what  is  wrong  ?'  asked  Neil,  completely  in 
the  dark. 

'  God  knows  how  much  or  how  little  is  wrong,  my 
boy  !  You  have  seen  Fouche*  ?' 

*  No,  I  have  not.' 

You   have   not  ?'  screamed   the  Gascon.      '  Then 
whom  have  you  seen  ?' 

'  I  have  seen  two  men,'  answered  Neil  slowly — 
'that  is,  two  of  any  importance.' 

'  Yes,  yes  ;  but  quick  !  You  will  drive  me  mad  ! 
Who  were  they  ?' 

'The  first  was  General  Bertrand,  the  second ' 


THE  AUDIENCE  255 

'Yes?' 

'  The  second  was  Fouche"'s  master,'  replied  Neil, 
remembering  Napoleon's  words. 

'  Fouche"'s  master !  The  Emperor,  you  mean  ? 
Embrace  me,  my  friend — we  are  saved.  This  is 
superb  !' 

'  But  what  is  wrong  ?' 

'  Nothing  now ;  but  had  you  seen  the  Minister,  my  life 
at  least  would  not  have  been  worth  a  day's  purchase. 
Listen !  A  man  has  just  gone  out,  a  man  paid  by  me, 
who  brings  me  certain  information  that  there  are 
four  persons  concerned  in  this  plot.  One  of  them 
you  know  already.  He  is  Massoni — our  old  enemy 
Massoni ;  the  second  is,  as  I  said,  a  woman ;  the 
third  is  their  tool,  gutter-bred,  a  mere  machine ;  but 
the  fourth — the  fourth  is  Fouche*  himself!' 

'  Good  Lord  !'  cried  Neil.     '  Are  you  sure  ?' 

'As  sure  as  I  well  can  be  ;  the  man  does  not  know 
as  much,  but  he  described  the  fourth  conspirator,  who 
meets  in  a  certain  house,  which  shall  be  nameless  and 
numberless  at  present.  The  description  is  enough 
for  me  ;  the  fourth,  as  I  say,  is  Fouche" !' 

'  Whew  !'  whistled  Neil.  '  This  has  been  a  narrow 
escape.' 

'  Let  me  hear  it,  then,'  cried  Jules  impatiently,  as 
Neil  helped  him  into  bed. 

'  Superb !'  said  Gironde  again,  when  he  had  learned 
full  particulars  of  Neil's  mission.  'Things  could  not 
have  turned  out  better  both  for  you  and  for  me,  and 
yet  it  would  have  been  amusing  to  have  seen  how  the 
rascal  looked  when  he  read  the  papers.' 

'I'm  glad  I  was  not  amused  in  that  way,'  laughed 
Neil. 

*  Ta,  ta,  ta,  my  friend  1  It  is  very  fine  to  see  a  man 
suddenly  surprised.' 

'So  I  can  testify.' 

'  Pouf !  I  was  a  little  upset ;  it  is  the  fever.  Feel 
my  pulse  now — as  steady  as  the  Guard  under  fire. 
To  be  sure,  there  was  not  a  breath  of  suspicion  in 
my  report,  but  I  would  stake  at  third  ear,  if  I  had 


256         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

one,  that  Fouchd,  knowing  what  he  does  of  me,  would 
have  had  me  safe  in  the  Temple  before  to-night  at 
the  latest.' 

'  But  what  can  be  his  object  ?'  asked  Neil.  '  Such 
perfidy  is  horrible.  To  have  secret  dealings  with  the 
King  would  be  bad  enough,  considering  his  position, 
but  to  conspire  against  Napoleon's  life  !' 

'  His  object  is  the  same  as  it  has  always  been — 
money,  money!  He  is  like  an  octopus  with  every 
sucker  reaching  for  a  piece  of  gold.  As  far  as  I  can 
make  out,  his  precious  friends  have  a  promise  of 
forfeited  estates  from  Louis,  and  were  in  a  fair  way 
to  get  them,  when  the  Bourbon  is  sent,  wringing  his 
hands,  over  the  frontier.  Then  comes  their  plot,  and 
if  Jules  Gironde  is  anything  of  a  spy,  Fouche  dis- 
covered it  himself,  and  became  their  ally  on  promise 
of  something  very  big,  you  may  be  sure.  Who  can 
say  what  he  will  do?  To  tell  the  truth,  I  would 
rather  be  in  the  Emperor's  shoes  than  in  Carlo 
Massoni's.  The  Orator  is  bad  as  an  enemy,  he  is  ten 
times  worse  as  a  friend.' 

'  And  what  is  to  be  done  now  ?' 

'  Nothing,  my  boy  ;  we  must  wait  and  we  must 
watch.  Fouche"  can  wriggle  out  of  any  accusation  ; 
he  is  like  a  slimy  snake,  crawling  out  of  an  old  skin 
and  putting  on  a  new  one ;  but  give  me  proof,  and 
give  me  time.  Leave  it  to  old  Gironde.  The 
Emperor  in  my  hearing  has  said  that  Talleyrand 
will  probably  hang  Fouche"  some  fine  day.  What  if 
Jules  Gironde  should  do  it !' 

A  week  passed.  The  Gascon  had  been  up  and 
about  for  three  days,  and  Neil  had  been  left  to  his 
own  devices ;  for  Gironde  gave  him  to  understand 
that  too  many  cooks  in  such  a  case  would  spoil  the 
broth,  and  bade  him  occupy  himself  with  the  sights 
of  the  city  and  its  surroundings.  Somewhat  to  his 
surprise,  Gironde  proposed  one  evening  that  they 
should  pay  a  visit  to  the  Theatre  of  Varieties.  Paris 
will  be  in  dire  straits  before  the  doors  of  her  places 


THE  AUDIENCE  257 

of  amusement  are  closed,  and  in  spite  of  war-clouds 
and  the  prevailing  depression,  her  stage-loving  citizens 
still  thronged  the  play-houses. 

'  It  is  time  we  had  a  little  amusement/  said 
Gironde ;  '  and  we  may  perhaps  combine  business 
with  pleasure.  The  Varieties  is  most  to  my  taste, 
and  "  la  belle  Arnericaine  "  is  said  to  be  charming. 
But  perhaps  you  object;  you  are  too  strict,  too 
proper — is  it  so  ?' 

'When  you  are  in  Rome,  do  as  the  Romans/ 
laughed  Neil.  '  The  Varieties  be  it ;  though  I  have 
no  great  liking  for  the  play.' 

'  The  play  !'  chuckled  Gironde.  '  It  is  scarcely  to 
be  so  called  ;  but  no  matter,  you  shall  see  it.  I  will 
wager  you  that  Perrier  will  be  there.  He  knows  a 
pretty  girl,  and  is  a  sad  dog — only  I  know  more  ;'  and 
the  Gascon  nodded  very  wisely. 

The  place  was  packed,  chiefly  with  the  military, 
but  the  audience  were  cold  and  unresponsive,  save 
when  allusion  was  made  to  the  Emperor,  when  there 
went  up  a  roar  which  might  have  shaken  the  walls. 

'  They  seem  to  care  little  about  it  all,'  said  Neil, 
'  and  I  do  not  wonder.' 

'  Patience,'  said  Gironde.  *  They  wait  for  mademoi- 
selle.' 

And  he  was  right.  As  she  came  upon  the  stage, 
she  was  greeted  with  uproarious  applause  and  showers 
of  flowers,  but  Neil  Darroch  sat  as  one  transfixed. 
This  woman,  dressed  in  a  coquettish  costume,  who 
bowed  and  smiled,  a  woman  of  a  rare  and  bewitching 
beauty,  with  a  rich  deep  voice  and  pretty  tricks  of 
manner,  and  dainty  dancing  steps,  was  no  other  than 
the  waif  whom  he  had  saved,  it  seemed  to  him,  half  a 
century  ago.  She  was  Kate  Ingleby — but  she  was 
something  more.  As  a  fresh  burst  of  applause 
heralded  her  appearance,  Gironde  bent  towards  him, 
and  whispered  in  his  ear : 

'Behold   the  accomplice  of   the   Minister  of  the 
Police !' 
17 


258         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  NIGHT  OF  RECKONING 

IRONDE  naturally  enough  attributed  the  in- 
tense  astonishment  depicted  on  his  friend's 
face  to  his  own  surprising  piece  of  informa- 
tion. He  had  not  noticed  the  start  Neil  Darroch 
gave  the  moment  he  caught  sight  of  the  girl,  nor  did 
he  perceive  that  his  companion's  agitation  and  half 
incredulous  stare  were  both  present  before  he  whis- 
pered in  his  ear. 

Neil,  indeed,  scarcely  heard  him.  This  strange 
meeting  with  the  woman  he  had  tried  to  forget,  who 
was  in  a  way  the  cause  of  all  his  troubles,  affected 
him  powerfully.  He  had  despaired  of  ever  seeing 
her  again  ;  he  had  resolved  to  make  no  effort  to  find 
her.  How  could  he,  a  man  who  bore  on  his  back  the 
brand  of  ignominy,  venture  to  approach  her?  Over 
and  over  again  he  repeated  this  argument  to  himself, 
but  every  time  his  mind  would  conjure  up  a  vision  of 
her  as  he  had  last  seen  her,  talking  to  poor  old  Charles 
Deschamps,  laughing  gaily  at  some  gallant  speech  of 
her  ancient  admirer.  How  could  he,  broken  in  spirit, 
with  no  future,  ruined,  a  mere  outcast,  ever  raise  his 
eyes  to  one  who  was  rich  both  in  charms  and  beauty, 
and  in  this  world's  goods  ?  he  asked  himself,  but 
could  not  forget  her  face  and  figure  and  the  dainty 
drawl  of  her  sweet  voice. 

And  now  she  was  before  him  upon  a  theatre  stage 
— a  common  actress.  Could  this  indeed  be  she — this 
woman  who  sang  entrancingly,  to  whom  the  whole 
house  was  listening  with  bated  breath  ?  A  feeling  of 
intense  relief  possessed  him  when  he  found  that  there 
was  nothing  objectionable  in  the  words  she  voiced. 
She  broke  into  a  dance,  modest  and  graceful,  swaying 
to  the  music,  nodding  and  smiling  to  her  audience, 


A  NIGHT  OF  RECKONING      259 

even  as  she  had  many  a  time  nodded  and  smiled  to 
him  ;  and  then  she  vanished  at  the  wings. 

A  storm  of  cheering  recalled  her,  but  only  to 
curtsey  and  beam  with  pleasure.  Neil  found  himself, 
quite  unconsciously,  joining  in  the  ovation,  and  dis- 
covered Jules  Gironde  with  a  suspicious  moisture  in 
his  eyes. 

'  Think  of  her !'  said  the  little  Gascon  in  a  snuffling 
voice.  '  It  is  as  they  told  me :  she  is  like  a  lark  and 
a  humming-bird  rolled  into  one,  and  the  spirit  of  a 
viper  is  inside.  Why,  my  friend,  are  the  worst  women 
often  the  fairest  ?' 

His  words  recalled  Neil  to  himself.  He  must  be 
cautious  and  circumspect. 

'  I  cannot  say  I  see  anything  very  bad  in  her/  he 
answered. 

1  No,  no,  but  wait ;  you  heard  what  I  said.  She 
comes  again  ;  then  you  will  see  what  I  mean.' 

He  was  right.  She  appeared  for  the  second  time 
in  character,  in  the  costume  of  a  vivandiere  of  the 
line,  and  her  dress  brought  vividly  to  Neil's  mind  the 
spotted  kerchief,  the  short  skirt  and  the  red  stockings 
she  had  worn  at  Darroch  House.  She  played  her 
part  to  perfection,  slapping  an  imaginary  veteran  on 
the  face,  chaffing  a  raw  recruit,  gently  tending  a  dying 
conscript.  The  house  laughed  with  her  and  cried 
with  her.  Never  for  a  moment  had  Neil  Darroch 
supposed  that  she  possessed  such  talent. 

But  why,  in  any  case,  was  she  here  ?  What  did  her 
appearance  in  this  public  place  mean  ?  Was  she  now 

poor,  or  was  it ?  But  as  he  cudgelled  his  brains 

for  an  answer  her  acting  ceased. 

There  was  a  dead  silence,  and  from  the  roof  were 
lowered  two  standards,  each  surmounted  by  the 
imperial  eagle.  The  house  restrained  itself  by  a 
mighty  effort,  and,  accompanied  by  the  full  orchestra, 
she  sang  again.  The  glory  of  Napoleon  was  her 
theme.  Her  voice,  now  rich  and  full,  told  of  the  old 
campaigns  and  the  old  triumphs.  It  quavered  into 
17—2 


26o          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

melancholy  notes  and  recounted  the  fall  of  the 
Empire  ;  it  rose  vigorous  and  strong,  denouncing  the 
Bourbons,  the  tyrants,  the  curse  of  France ;  it  was 
hushed  into  expectancy,  and  then,  little  by  little, 
pealed  out  into  a  paean  of  victory,  telling  of  the  great 
march  and  the  flocking  to  the  colours,  and  the  trust 
of  the  Old  Guard,  and  finally  ended  in  a  jubilation  and 
a  prophecy  of  peace  with  honour. 

The  song  itself  was  mere  clap-trap,  but  the  woman 
threw  feeling  and  passion  into  it.  One  would  have 
sworn  she  was  the  Emperor's  devoted  slave,  that  in 
her  heart  she  echoed  every  word  to  which  she  gave 
utterance,  every  sentiment  she  expressed.  As  she 
ceased  she  kissed  the  flags,  which  were  represented  as 
riddled  with  shot  and  scorched  with  flame.  Then, 
raising  them,  she  looked  upwards,  as  if  praying  for  a 
blessing  on  the  cause  they  represented. 

The  effect  was  marvellous.  Neil  himself  was 
moved.  Gironde  was  in  a  state  of  mad  enthusiasm. 
Tears  were  rolling  down  war-worn  faces,  hoarse 
voices  were  trying  to  shout,  though  half-choked  by 
sobs  ;  bearded  men  were  hugging  each  other,  beard- 
less boys  were  flushed  as  though  with  wine. 

A  moment  so,  and  then,  as  the  curtain  fell,  every 
sound  was  lost  in  a  mighty  roar  like  that  raised  by 
an  army  on  the  field  of  battle.  No  words  could  be 
heard,  nothing  but  a  volume  of  rolling  sound,  yet 
Neil  Darroch  understood  its  import,  dazed  and 
bewildered  though  he  was,  and,  carried  away  for 
the  moment,  shouted  also  with  the  rest : 

'  Vive  1'Empereur !' 

As  they  mingled  with  the  press  on  the  way  out, 
Jules  caught  hold  of  Neil's  arm. 

4  Do  you  know  what  she  is  ?'  he  whispered. 

'  What  she  is  ?'  echoed  Neil,  on  the  point  of  reveal- 
ing his  secret. 

'  She  is  Fouche"  in  petticoats.  I  could  no  more 
arrest  her  on  the  stage  than  I  could  arrest  the  Orator 
in  the  Cabinet  She  would  prove  me  a  liar  to  my 


A  NIGHT  OF  RECKONING     261 

face.  Hush!'  he  added  warningly.  'Yonder  is 
number  one.' 

Neil  followed  the  direction  of  his  gaze,  and  there, 
head  and  shoulders  above  the  crowd,  his  chin  and 
mouth  concealed,  a  rapt  look  in  his  dark  eyes,  was 
the  assassin,  Carlo  Massoni. 

Neil  would  there  and  then  have  forced  his  way 
through  the  throng  and  grappled  with  the  villain,  had 
not  Gironde  restrained  him. 

'Gently,  my  friend,'  he  whispered;  'all  in  good 
time.  You  would  scare  the  other  birds,  and  do  no 
good,  for  where  are  your  proofs  ?' 

'  True,  and  where  are  your  proofs  about — about  the 
girl's  guilt?'  asked  Neil. 

'  Here  at  present,'  said  Jules,  tapping  his  head  ; 
'  but  it  is  dangerous  to  speak  so  loud.' 

Neil  felt  himself  in  a  quandary.  He  did  not  know 
what  to  believe.  He  reflected  how  short  had  been 
his  acquaintance  with  Kate  Ingleby ;  he  could  not  tell 
to  what  influences  she  had  been  subjected  in  Paris ;  he 
knew  nothing  of  her  uncle  or  her  uncle's  friends. 
Was  it  possible  she  could  be  so  vile  ? 

'  No,  no,'  he  cried  to  himself,  *  it  cannot  be ;'  but 
then  again  his  own  question  would  crop  up  :  '  Where 
are  your  proofs  ?' 

Guilty  or  not  guilty,  he  determined  to  save  her  from 
the  clutches  of  the  law.  If  she  had  indeed  fallen  so 
low  in  so  short  a  time,  it  could  not  be  her  fault 
altogether.  She  must  have  unwittingly  got  into  the 
power  of  villains,  of  this  Massoni,  perhaps,  or  maybe 
her  uncle,  D'Herbois,  had  been  a  scoundrel. 

He  must  deceive  Gironde,  that  was  evident.  It 
would  serve  no  purpose  to  frankly  tell  him  everything, 
for  it  would  make  no  difference  to  the  Gascon's 
course  of  action. 

It  will  be  noted  that  Neil  could  not  absolutely 
convince  himself  of  the  girl's  innocence.  His  trials 
had  made  him  suspicious,  he  had  lost  faith  in  human 
nature. 


262          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

Still  he  became  an  habitual  frequenter  of  the 
theatre,  aware  that  there  was  little  risk  of  his  being 
recognised,  so  altered  were  his  features  by  illness,  so 
changed  his  expression.  His  one  pleasure  in  life 
was  to  sit  and  watch  her,  to  listen  to  her  clear  young 
voice,  to  let  his  thoughts  wander  back  to  the  past  and 
recall  the  old  scenes  at  Darroch.  It  often  seemed  to 
him  as  though  she  sang  to  the  music  of  the  Western 
waves  as  they  splashed  and  played  upon  the  sands  of 
Shiachan,  or  came  tumbling,  white  and  frothy,  about 
the  Croban  Point. 

He  would  lose  himself  in  a  reverie  and  be  roused 
only  when  the  house  rose  in  mad  enthusiasm  at  the 
song  of  the  Emperor.  Then  he  would  stagger  out 
into  the  night  and  torture  himself  with  questions. 

It  was  not  without  a  fierce  struggle  that  he  made 
up  his  mind.  He  long  halted  between  his  love  for 
Kate  Ingleby  and  his  friendship  for  Gironde.  He 
knew  how  the  latter  looked  forward  to  the  great  haul 
he  was  going  to  make,  how  he  counted  upon  it  to 
re-establish  his  fame  as  the  most  cunning  and  adroit 
member  of  the  secret  service,  how  he  hoped  to  show 
by  it  his  devotion  to  his  Emperor,  his  zeal  for  the 
re-established  Empire. 

If  it  is  hard  for  a  youth  with  all  his  life  before 
him  to  have  his  ambitions  thwarted,  how  much 
greater  is  the  blow  to  a  man  of  middle  age,  striving 
to  regain  a  position  he  has  lost  i 

Neil  fully  appreciated  this  ;  he  feared  that  his 
comrade  would  think  he  had  merely  forestalled  him, 
that  he  was  jealous  and  greedy  for  advancement,  for 
be  it  observed  that  he  had  to  anticipate  the  Gascon. 
At  the  same  time  as  he  warned  Kate  Ingleby  he 
would  have  to  kill  or  capture  her  fellow-conspirators. 
If  she  fled  they  would  at  once  take  the  alarm. 
There  must  be  no  bungling.  There  would  be  no 
little  danger,  for  he  must  do  the  deed  alone.  It 
would  be  fatal  to  have  witnesses. 

So  great  was  the  conflict  he  waged  with  himself, 


A  NIGHT  OF  RECKONING     263 

that  it  was  not  till  the  evening  of  the  great  concert 
in  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries,  the  night  following 
the  famous  Champs  de  Mai,  that  he  finally  resolved 
to  put  into  execution  the  plan  he  had  been  so  long 
maturing.  He  was  in  an  excellent  position  to  gain 
information,  and  what  he  heard  still  further  dis- 
tressed him.  The  girl  lived  in  the  same  house  with 
the  villain  Massoni,  a  deformed  creature,  and — here 
was  his  one  crumb  of  comfort — an  old  female  servant, 
who  had  been  there  while  Emile  d'Herbois  lived. 
Be  it  remembered  neither  he  nor  Gironde  knew 
aught  of  Charles  Deschamps,  who,  little  better  than 
a  helpless  infant,  lay  hidden  away  in  an  inner  room. 
How,  then,  could  Neil  understand  what  kept  the 
girl  in  such  vile,  such  loathsome  company  ? 

He  knew  the  house  which  all  three  inhabited,  the 
rambling  building  in  the  narrow  lane  near  the  river, 
and  within  the  boundaries  of  the  old  Quartier  St. 
Paul.  He  knew  also  that  Gironde  was  to  arrest  the 
whole  band  at  midnight  on  the  Monday  following 
the  great  fete  and  presentation  of  the  eagles  on  the 
Champs  de  Mars. 

Neil  Darroch  made  up  his  mind  to  carry  out  his 
project  on  the  preceding  night.  Gironde  considered 
Fouche"  too  powerful  to  proclaim  him  as  a  traitor, 
and  worse  than  a  traitor;  but  he  was  bent  on 
capturing  the  others,  and  had  left  them  no  loophole 
of  escape,  not  even  that  devised  for  the  girl  by  Neil 
Darroch.  For  the  spy  had  not  been  blind  :  he  quietly 
altered  his  plans  :  he  also  resolved  to  visit  the  house 
off  the  Rue  de  Gramont  on  the  night  of  Sunday, 
June  4. 

There  were  two  differences  in  their  methods  of 
setting  to  work,  and  this  was  unknown  to  the  Gascon. 
Neil  Darroch  had  to  go  alone,  and  he  considered  it 
best  to  go  when  the  house  was  vacant.  Jules  Gironde 
was  to  have  men  at  his  back,  and  to  wait  till  the 
birds  were  in  the  trap. 

Neil  Darroch's  chief  concern  was  to  explain  his 


264          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

conduct  to  the  man  who  had  trusted  and  loved  him ; 
Jules  Gironde's  to  explain  to  his  followers  the  con- 
duct of  the  man  he  pitied  and  understood. 

For  all  that,  he  did  not  know  that  Noel  Deschamps 
and  the  actress  had  met  before,  that  she  was  the 
woman  who,  in  some  measure,  was  the  cause  of  the 
story  he  had  heard  in  Corsica.  He  merely  thought 
that  his  friend  was  fascinated  by  '  la  belle  Ameri- 
caine,'  and  being  a  man  with  a  big  heart,  he  did  not 
blame  him.  Instead,  he  was  sincerely  sorry  to  find 
himself  in  such  an  awkward  position  ;  but  duty  was 
duty,  and  '  the  Emperor,'  so  said  the  Gascon,  '  must 
come  first.'  Jules  Gironde  would  have  arrested  his 
mother  had  he  believed  her  dangerous  to  the  object 
of  his  hero-worship. 

It  was  a  very  miserable  man  who  excused  himself 
on  a  plea  of  illness  from  going  to  the  Tuileries,  and, 
as  soon  as  Gironde  departed,  prepared  a  dark  lantern, 
cleaned  and  loaded  a  brace  of  pistols,  and  saw  that 
a  long  knife  could  be  slipped  readily  from  its  sheath. 
The  venture  was  perilous.  Nothing  must  be  left  to 
chance. 

He  had  explored  the  neighbourhood  of  the  house, 
and  discovered  a  window  in  the  back,  to  which 
access  could  be  obtained  by  means  of  an  outhouse 
roof. 

Gironde's  agents  had  brought  in  the  news  that 
Massoni  and  the  woman  were  to  be  at  the  palace, 
and  that  Craspinat,  the  third  of  the  party,  was  to 
join  them  after  the  display  of  fireworks,  and  return 
home  with  them. 

The  Gascon  had  only  waited  so  long  because  he 
wished  to  excite  in  his  victims  a  false  sense  of  security, 
and  he  knew  that  the  bomb  which  was  to  be  their 
instrument  for  Napoleon's  assassination  was  yet 
hardly  completed.  He  had  learned  a  good  deal 
more  about  Craspinat,  and  no  longer  regarded  that 
repulsive  being  as  a  mere  tool  in  the  hands  of 
Massoni. 


A  NIGHT  OF  RECKONING      265 

Had  Gironde  conceived  that  Neil  Darroch  would 
lie  in  wait  at  the  house  off  the  Rue  de  Gramont,  he 
would  at  once  have  again  altered  his  plans ;  but  as 
he  expected  to  arrive  immediately  after  his  victims, 
and  as  he  had  given  orders  for  men  to  be  posted 
about  the  house  an  hour  before  midnight,  he  felt 
certain  that  he  would  frustrate  Neil  Darroch's  pur- 
pose and  carry  out  his  own.  The  old  Jules  Gironde 
would  have  been  more  careful,  but  five  years  of 
solitude  amongst  the  mountains  of  Corsica  had  left 
their  mark  on  the  faithful  Gascon ;  for  once  his 
strategy  was  at  fault. 

Neil  Darroch  found  himself  so  feverish  and  restless 
that  he  set  out  sooner  than  he  had  intended.  It  will 
be  remembered  that  he  was  ignorant  of  the  alteration 
in  Gironde's  plan.  He  himself  was  to  have  taken 
part  in  the  surprise  on  the  morrow. 

He  experienced  no  difficulty  in  carrying  out  his  in- 
tentions. The  ill-lighted  streets  were  deserted.  All 
Paris  seemed  to  be  at  the  concert  and  pyrotechnic 
display.  The  night  was  clear  and  warm.  The  man, 
hurrying  along  in  the  shadows,  started  at  the  sound  of 
his  own  footsteps ;  his  head  was  throbbing,  his  eyes 
wild.  Worry  and  passion  had  told  their  tale  on  him. 
He  was  a  mere  mockery  of  the  man  who,  little  more 
than  a  year  before,  had  saved  the  girl  he  was  again 
trying  to  save  ;  and  yet  the  same  traits  were  present 
in  him — a  cool  courage,  a  certain  degree  of  dogged- 
ness,  and  a  morbid  sensitiveness ;  but  in  addition 
there  were  the  fruits  of  undeserved  cruelty,  illness, 
and  the  cherished  desire  for  revenge. 

It  was  an  hour  and  a  half  before  the  first  of 
Gironde's  gendarmes  posted  himself  where  he  could 
command  the  back  of  the  house  that  Neil  Darroch 
mounted  on  the  sloping  roof  of  the  shed  and  tried 
the  window.  Somewhat  to  his  surprise,  it  was  not 
fastened.  He  knew  that  just  then  the  only  occupant 
of  the  house,  the  old  servant,  was  no  doubt  already 
asleep. 


266          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

His  knowledge,  like  Gironde's,  was,  as  we  have 
seen,  defective.  The  Gascon  was  aware  that  Massoni 
had  only  recently  made  the  house  his  abode,  and  this 
he  regarded  as  a  sign  that  matters  were  approaching 
a  crisis. 

Neil  Darroch  clambered  in,  and,  gently  closing  the 
window,  began  to  look  about  him  with  the  aid  of  the 
lantern.  He  found  that  he  was  in  a  large  chamber, 
half  sitting-room,  half  bedroom.  A  table  stood  in 
the  centre,  but  there  was  little  furniture  besides,  with 
the  exception  of  a  canopied  bed  and  a  few  chairs. 
There  was  a  candle  upon  the  mantelshelf,  and  Neil, 
after  hesitating  a  moment,  lit  it  and  surveyed  the 
premises.  It  was  clearly  a  woman's  room.  Whose, 
then,  but  Kate  Ingleby's  ?  Suddenly  he  caught  sight 
of  something  lying  on  a  shelf  which  projected  from 
the  wall  and  formed  a  makeshift  dressing-table.  It 
was  a  little  brooch  of  gold,  which  had  been  his 
mother's,  and  which  he  had  one  day  presented  to  the 
girl  when  she  had  been  in  difficulties  about  the  fasten- 
ing of  her  dress  at  the  throat.  He  picked  it  up  and 
fingered  it  curiously.  What  a  host  of  memories  it 
brought  back  to  him  !  He  smiled  as  he  replaced  it, 
and  his  smile  was  less  grim  than  it  had  been  for  many 
a  day. 

'  Yes,'  he  muttered,  '  I  did  right  in  coming  here. 
Poor  lass  !  she  may  not  be  so  much  to  blame  as  one 
would  think.  God  knows  how  hard  it  is  for  some  to 
guard  themselves  from  crime.' 

He  passed  his  hand  across  his  brow.  His  head 
ached  ;  he  did  not  feel  equal  to  the  task  which  might 
be  before  him.  So  far,  however,  fortune  had  once  in 
a  way  favoured  him.  It  might  now  be  possible  for 
him  to  warn  the  girl  without  alarming  the  others. 
Together  they  might  devise  some  plan  of  escape  for 
her  if  she  would  abandon  the  conspiracy. 

At  the  same  time,  he  recognised  that  he  was  in  an 
invidious  position.  He  had  the  feelings  of  a  gentle- 
man, and  disliked  having  thus  to  intrude  on  any 


A  NIGHT  OF  RECKONING      267 

woman's  privacy,  but  it  was  no  time  for  false  modesty, 
and  so,  when  he  discovered  a  closet  filled  with  clothes, 
but  large  enough  to  accommodate  him,  and  even  to 
permit  his  standing  upright,  he  resolved  to  conceal 
himself.  He  carefully  extinguished  the  candle,  and 
making  himself  as  comfortable  as  possible  in  the 
recess,  pulled  the  door  to  until  only  a  chink  remained, 
and  seeing  that  his  pistols  were  easy  in  his  belt,  began 
his  vigil.  The  time  passed  wearily  ;  there  was  not  a 
sound  in  the  building,  not  even  the  monotonous  tick 
of  a  clock  to  tell  how  the  minutes  sped.  His 
thoughts  went  flying  back  again  to  Darroch  House. 
He  remembered  with  a  faint  surprise  the  kind  of  man 
he  had  then  been,  the  finicking,  cold-mannered  advo- 
cate, who  fumbled  with  his  eyeglass,  made  neat  little 
speeches,  and  was  the  better  pleased  if  they  happened 
to  be  cynical ;  who  was  full  of  family  pride  and 
passionately  patriotic,  however  slightly  he  might  show 
his  sentiments,  and  yet  whose  cool,  legal  brain  had 
been  turned  by  a  fair  lass  with  wonderful  eyes  and 
hair,  a  mixed  ancestry,  and  a  Yankee  drawl 

'  And  yet,'  he  said  to  himself,  '  this  passion  is  all 
that  remains  to  me.' 

It  was  not  strictly  true. 

A  moment  later  he  was  thinking  of  Geoffrey,  of 
the  foul-mouthed,  drunken  Londoner  who  was  to 
blame  for  all  his  miseries,  for  those  scars  upon  his 
back,  for  his  broken  health,  for — yes,  it  was  probable 
— for  the  girl's  present  position. 

'  Let  me  but  meet  him  I'  he  muttered.  The  slumber- 
ing fires  of  hate  still  glowed  within  him.  '  He  shall 
have  his  chance,  though  he  deserves  to  die  like  the 
dog  he  is  ;  but  I  am  not  an  assassin.  I  shall  give 
him  his  chance.'  He  stopped,  and  listened  intently. 

A  sound  like  the  distant  closing  of  a  door  had 
come  to  his  ears.  He  waited  impatiently.  Every 
second  seemed  an  hour  in  his  state  of  nervous  tension. 
He  was  beginning  to  think  his  senses  had  deceived 
him,  when  he  heard  a  light  footstep,  and  then  was 


268          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

conscious  of  a  faint  yellow  gleam  visible  through  the 
chink.  He  held  his  breath  and  waited,  pushing  the 
press-door  a  little  further  ajar.  A  figure,  carrying  a 
light,  passed  across  his  line  of  vision,  the  figure  of  a 
woman.  It  was  Kate  Ingleby. 

At  the  same  moment  he  distinctly  heard  the  snarling 
whine  of  a  street  cur.  Though  he  did  not  know  it, 
Gironde's  spies  were  signalling  that  there  was  a  glow 
at  the  back  of  the  house,  but  they  were  signalling  a 
trifle  too  soon.  The  Gascon  and  his  band  of  men 
were  not  yet  on  the  spot.  If  the  spy  had  not  out- 
witted the  Minister  of  Police,  they  would  not  even 
have  been  upon  their  way  ;  but  Gironde  had  been  too 
clever  for  Fouche".  He  was  late,  but  he  was  coming. 
Had  he  not  changed  his  plans,  there  would  have  been 
no  midnight  raid  on  the  morrow ;  but  Fouch6  had 
taken  alarm  only  at  the  last  moment,  and  had  to  be 
careful  how  he  opposed  the  man  who  had  thwarted 
him  more  than  once.  The  Orator  was  not  the  person 
to  run  his  head  into  a  noose  or  forge  evidence  against 
himself.  His  attempt  had  been  hurried  and  incom- 
plete. 

Neil  Darroch,  unaware  that  he  had  not  a  moment 
to  lose,  was  yet  conscious  that  there  must  be  no  delay. 
As  soon,  therefore,  as  Kate  passed  his  hiding-place, 
he  slipped  quietly  out.  She  was  pulling  down  the 
window-blind,  but  turned  sharply  as  she  heard  him. 

He  held  up  a  warning  hand,  but  not  in  time  to 
check  the  cry  of  surprise  and  fear  she  uttered  as  she 
saw  the  tall  stranger  standing  at  the  table. 

She  had  thrown  aside  her  hat,  and  was  robed  in  a 
long  cloak,  a  fold  of  which  she  clutched  with  the 
fingers  of  her  left  hand,  while  her  right  began  to 
search  her  dress. 

Neil  understood  the  motion.  She  was  seeking  a 
weapon. 

'  You  need  not  be  afraid,'  he  said  in  French.  '  I 
will  do  you  no  harm.' 

Now  that  he  was  close  to  her,  he  saw  that  a  year 


A  NIGHT  OF  RECKONING     269 

had  changed  her  also.  She  was  thinner  and  paler  ; 
her  face  was  a  little  careworn  ;  she  looked  older  and 
more  of  a  woman  than  she  had  done.  Her  girlish 
brightness  was  gone  in  large  measure,  but  to  him  she 
was  more  beautiful  than  ever.  Trouble  had  refined 
her,  while  it  had  hardened  him,  but  her  eyes  were  the 
same,  with  the  old  defiant  flash  in  them,  though  now 
along  with  it  there  was  something  of  wonder,  some- 
thing of  fear. 

'  Who  are  you  ?'  she  asked.    '  What  do  you  want  ?' 

'  It  matters  not  who  I  am.  I  want  to  see  you  safe. 
You  must  leave  Paris  to-night ;  to-morrow  will  be  too 
late.' 

'  Leave  Paris !' 

It  was  plain  she  was  utterly  bewildered.  Suddenly 
her  manner  changed. 

'  Is  there  anything  else  you  have  to  propose  to  me?' 
she  queried.  '  Do  you  intend  to  accompany  me,  for 
instance  ?' 

'  I  entertained  no  such  idea,'  he  answered 

Something  in  his  bearing,  in  his  words,  startled 
her. 

She  clutched  at  the  table  and  leaned  forward, 
scanning  his  features,  and  then  gave  a  little  cry,  the 
meaning  of  which  he  could  not  doubt.  It  expressed 
relief — ay,  and  more  than  relief.  It  was  the  cry  of 
one  who  has  waited  long,  who  has  hoped  and  watched , 
and  has  at  last  been  rewarded. 

'  It  is  you !'  she  said  softly.  '  Ah,  I  knew  you 
would  come !'  A  smile  dimpled  her  face.  '  Now,' 
she  added,  with  a  pretty  gesture  of  her  hands, '  I  am 
not  afraid.' 

Neil  Darroch  trembled  as  he  had  never  done,  even 
when  stripped  and  ready  for  the  lash ;  but  he  resolved 
to  test  her. 

'  Have  done !'  he  said  sternly.  '  I  am  here  for  your 
sake.  Do  you  think  you  can  fool  me  as  you  fool 
these  mad  enthusiasts  ?' 

'  Fool  you  !'  she  repeated,  all  the  glow  fading  from 


270         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

her  face.  '  What  do  you  mean  ?  What  has  hap- 
pened ?' 

Her  surprise  was  too  real  to  be  feigned. 

*  Then,  you  do  not  know — you  are  not  guilty  ?'  he 
said  hoarsely.  '  For  God's  sake,  Miss  Ingleby — Kate 
— tell  me  if  you  have  any  dealings  with  this  man 
Massoni !' 

'  With  Signer  Massoni!  dealings!  How  dare  you?' 
she  cried. 

Then  suddenly  she  covered  her  face,  and  began  to 
sob  bitterly. 

'  You  mistake  my  meaning,'  said  Neil,  striving  hard 
to  steady  his  voice.  '  I  mean,  are  you  concerned  in 
this  plot  of  his  and  the  man  Craspinat  ?' 

The  most  intense  astonishment  checked  her  grief, 
though  she  could  not  control  her  agitation. 

'  A  plot !'  she  stammered,  '  I  know  nothing  of  a  plot. 
And  who  is  Craspinat  ?* 

It  was  his  turn  to  be  astounded  He  knew  her  to 
be  far  too  clever  to  overact  a  part,  and  yet 

'Craspinat,  the  deformed  being,  the  inventor  of 
the  bomb,  who  lives  in  this  house,  and  has  done  so  for 
months.' 

'Are  you  mad  ?'  she  asked. 

'  God  knows !'  said  Neil,  passing  his  hand  across 
his  forehead. 

'  Tell  me,'  she  cried  softly,  catching  at  his  arm — 
'  tell  me  all.  There  is  some  terrible  mystery  here.' 

In  a  few  hurried  words  he  made  it  clear  to  her. 
She  listened,  her  amazement  growing  with  his  narra- 
tion. 

He  finished  at  last,  and  marvelled  to  see  how 
calmly  she  took  the  news  ;  but  her  next  words  thrilled 
him. 

'  And  knowing  all  this,  knowing  the  danger  you 
run,  even  though  you  thought  me  wicked  ' — he  made 
a  sign  of  dissent,  but  she  never  paused — '  you  yet 
came  to  warn  me  ?' 

'  I  could  not  help  it,'  he  said. 


A  NIGHT  OF  RECKONING     271 

'  I  suppose,'  she  asked,  with  just  a  suspicion  of  her 
old  archness  and  raillery — '  I  suppose  it  was  entirely 
unintentional  ?' 

'  Kate  !'  was  all  he  said. 

Somehow  he  found  himself  at  her  side,  his  arm 
about  her,  her  eyes  smiling  into  his,  and  then  he  came 
to  himself. 

'  No,  no,'  he  said  harshly,  '  it  cannot  be.  I  am  un- 
worthy ;  I  am  marked  like  a  felon.  I  have  no  hope, 
no  country,  no  God!' 

She  shrank  back,  alarmed  at  his  violence. 

'  But  you  must  leave  at  once/  he  said,  mastering 
himself. 

'  I  cannot,'  she  cried.  '  There  is  your  uncle — he  is 
dying.' 

'  My  uncle  !' 

'  Yes,  Monsieur  Deschamps.' 

And  then  she  told  him. 

'  But,'  said  he,  '  what  of  Massoni  ?' 

'  It  is  only  recently  I  have  begun  to  suspect  him,' 
she  said.  '  I  have  told  you  how  I  found  I  was  poor, 
how  I  had  to  go  upon  the  stage,  and  it  was  after  that 
he  came.  He  represented  himself  as  an  old  friend  of 
Monsieur  d'Herbois,  and  Victorine  said  it  was  so.  He 
was  very  pleasant,  and  would  have  helped  me  with 
money  had  I  let  him.' 

'  The  devil !'  exclaimed  Neil. 

'  Then  he  said  he  had  to  leave  his  lodgings,  and 
could  find  no  others,  and  offered  to  pay  me  board.  I 
refused,  but  a  week  ago  he  came  of  his  own  accord, 
and  since  then  I  have  feared  him  and  carried  a 
weapon.  I  could  not  leave  Monsieur  Deschamps, 
and  Victorine  was  always  with  me ;  but  I  have  been 
in  misery.  To-night  he  forced  me  to  go  to  the 
Tuileries,  but  I  slipped  away  when  he  was  busy  talk- 
ing to  one  who,  from  what  you  say,  must  have  been 
this  terrible  Craspinat,  and  who  must  also  have  made 
Monsieur  Deschamps  what  he  is.  I  have  no  friends  ; 
I  have  quarrelled  with  the  notary,  and  was  too 


272         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

proud Ah,  you  do  not  know  how  hard  it  was 

for  me !' 

'  Ay,'  said  Neil  grimly, '  and  it  shall  go  hard  with 
him!' 

'  Hush !'  she  whispered. 

There  was  the  sound  of  heavy  footsteps  upon  the 
creaking  stairs. 

'  Who  is  it  ?'  asked  Neil  Darroch  quietly. 

'  It  is  Massoni ;   he  has  come  back !     He ' 

She  gave  a  cry  of  alarm  as  there  came  a  rapping  on 
the  panels. 

'  Hide !'  she  whispered,  pointing  towards  the  closet. 

Neil  Darroch  paid  no  attention.  A  few  strides  on 
tiptoe  carried  him  to  the  door.  The  key,  he  noticed, 
was  on  the  inside,  but  it  was  not  locked. 

A  moment  later  it  was  flung  back  on  his  face  and  a 
man  entered  hurriedly. 

Then  Neil  Darroch  quietly  shut  the  door,  and  shot 
to  the  bolt,  putting  the  key  in  his  pocket 

He  turned  immediately,  and  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  Carlo  Massoni. 

'  Who  the  devil  are  )'ou  ?'  asked  the  latter.  '  If 
this  is  one  of  your  friends,'  he  added  with  a  sneer, 
turning  to  the  girl,  'he  has  come  at  a  very  incon- 
venient time.' 

'  By  no  means,'  said  Neil ;  '  nothing  could  have 
suited  better.' 

'  Sacre"  !'  hissed  Massoni ;  '  it  is  you,  is  it  ?' 

'  Yes,  it  is  I,'  replied  Neil  Darroch  in  a  strained, 
unnatural  voice. 

For  a  moment  he  had  entirely  forgotten  his 
mission.  The  extraordinary  story  he  had  just  heard, 
the  thought  of  what  this  Massoni  had  done,  of  what 
Monsieur  Deschamps  had  become,  of  the  risks  the 
girl  had  run,  the  insults  she  had  suffered,  had  mad- 
dened him.  The  sight  of  Massoni  in  her  room,  his 
sneering  words,  goaded  him  to  fury,  but  he  was 
deadly  calm.  His  was  the  most  dangerous  form  of 
passion. 


A  NIGHT  OF  RECKONING     273 

'You  appear  surprised,'  he  went  on;  'but  I  am 
not  a  man  who  readily  forgets.' 

'  Curse  you !'  said  Massoni,  '  my  memory  is  as 
good  as  yours.' 

'  Pardon  me,  but  you  do  not  understand,  and  there 
is  no  time  to  explain.' 

'  Look  here,'  said  Massoni, '  you  seem  to  be  mad  ; 
but,  mad  or  not,  I  shall  meet  you  later  where  and 
when  you  will.  At  present,  let  me  tell  you,  the  odds 
are  too  great.' 

'  There  are  no  odds,'  said  Neil  Darroch.  '  I  am 
exactly  in  the  same  position  as  yourself.  If  you  are 
found  here  alive,  you  are  arrested  as  a  conspirator. 
If  I  am  found,  I  am  arrested  as  an  accomplice. 
Things  could  not  be  fairer.  You  have  no  second, 
neither  have  I ;  there  is,  however,  a  third  party  who 
can  give  the  word  to  fire.  I  regret  the  choice  of 
weapons  is  limited  ;  but  you  have  a  brace  of  pistols, 
so  have  I.  No,  sir !'  he  thundered  suddenly,  '  drop 
your  hand,  or  I  shall  shoot  you  as  you  deserve  to  be 
shot !  That  is  better,'  he  went  on,  in  his  former  level 
tones.  '  I  have  waited  long  for  this  ;  the  table  alone 
shall  separate  us — the  length  of  the  table.' 

1  It  is  murder !'  cried  the  Corsican,  staggered  at 
this  man's  knowledge  of  his  affairs. 

'  You  will  kindly  call  for  ends,'  said  Neil  Darroch, 
producing  a  coin  and  balancing  it  on  his  thumb-nail. 

'  I  say  it  is  murder  !'  said  Massoni  again. 

'  By  no  means.  It  is,  shall  we  say,  an  appeal  to 
chance — a  favourite  occupation  of  yours,  if  I  have 
heard  aright.  As  you  appear  to  object,  I  shall  spin 
the  coin.  I  regret  the  necessity  of  catching  it ;  but 
I  know  you  too  well  to  let  it  fall  on  the  floor  and 
necessitate  my  stooping.  You  are  dealing  with  a 
gentleman,  however,  even  though  his  back  has  been 
torn  by  the  cat.  Heads !  I  have  won.  Fortune 
seems  against  you  to-night.  I  shall  stand  with  my 
back  to  the  window.  Oblige  me  by  taking  up  your 
position  with  your  back  to  the  door.  I  am  sorry  to 
18 


274         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

have  again  to  threaten  you.     Thank  you.     The  light, 
I  think,  favours  neither  side.' 

As  Neil  Darroch  spoke,  he  walked  past  Carlo 
Massoni,  turning  round  immediately  so  that  he  faced 
him,  and  paced  backwards  till  he  stood  at  the  other 
end  of  the  table. 

'  This,  sir,'  said  he,  '  is  not  a  duel ;  it  is  an  appeal 
to  God.  I  had  reason  to  doubt  if  such  a  Being 
existed^;  but  now  I  know  He  does.  I  regret  this  scene 
should  take  place  in  the  presence  of  any  woman,  but 
it  is  necessary.  You  will  kindly  count  three  in  French, 
and  in  a  loud  voice,'  he  added,  never  taking  his  eyes 
off  the  other's  face,  but  addressing  the  girl,  who  all 
this  time  had  been  standing  with  parted  lips,  staring 
from  one  to  the  other,  unable  to  stir  or  utter  a  sound, 
fascinated  by  what  was  passing  before  her.  '  You 
will  lay  one  of  your  pistols  on  the  table,  sir,  as  I  do, 
for  a  second  shot,  to  be  fired  immediately  after  the 
first.  I  may  tell  you  I  believe  you  will  fall  at  the 
first  discharge,  and  so  a  second  will  not  be  required  ; 
but  it  is  well  to  be  prepared.  Do  you  agree  ?' 

'  You  are  mad  !'  said  the  Corsican,  in  a  hoarse  voice, 
as  he  saw  the  pale,  set  face  of  the  man  a  few  feet  in 
front  of  him,  a  man  whose  eyes  glowed  with  a  strange 
fire. 

'  Do  you  agree  ?* 

'  Sacre",  yes  !  One  may  as  well  be  shot  as  hanged ; 
but  you  shall  go  with  me.' 

'  Then  lay  your  second  pistol  on  the  table.     Ah !' 

Neil  Darroch  had  seen  Massoni's  gaze  shift  from 
his  face.  He  was  still  looking  in  his  direction,  but 
beyond  him.  At  the  same  moment  there  came  a 
noise  from  behind  him,  and  a  cry  from  Kate  Ingleby. 
Something  was  happening  at  the  window,  and  not  at 
the  window  only.  All  at  once  the  house  resounded 
with  shouts  and  cries  ;  in  rapid  succession  there  came 
the  clatter  of  feet  upon  the  stairs,  and  then  a  thunder- 
ing of  fists  upon  the  door,  while  a  voice  roared  : 

'  Open,  in  the  name  of  the  Emperor !' 


"This  sir,"  said  he,  "is  not  a  duel:  it  is  an  appeal  to  God." 

— Page  274. 


A  NIGHT  OF  RECKONING     275 

The  summons  mingled  with  the  report  of  a  pistol 
and  a  heavy  fall. 

Neil  Darroch,  the  instant  he  realized  that  the 
window  was  being  forced,  sprang  quickly  to  one  side. 
He  had  a  glimpse,  and  a  glimpse  only,  of  a  face, 
blood-stained  and  ferocious,  covered  with  shaggy  hair, 
and  carrying  a  long  knife  between  its  teeth.  It  was 
like  the  head  of  some  hideous  insect,  of  some  huge 
deformed  spider,  a  face  which  might  have  been — 
and  indeed  was  in  some  measure — the  product  of 
those  terrible  days  when  the  guillotine  was  red  to 
the  frame  and  blunted  with  excess  of  work,  the  days 
of  the  tumbril  and  the  basket,  the  days  which  had 
vanished  more  quickly  than  they  had  begun,  and 
had  carried  to  ruin  even  those  who  gloried  in  them. 
The  creature  who  owned  it  had  pushed  up  the 
sash,  and  was  bundling  over  the  sill — a  creature  short 
and  twisted,  clad  in  man's  clothes,  but  like  nothing 
human. 

It  was  Craspinat,  the  bomb-maker,  who,  in  attempt- 
ting  to  escape,  had  been  surrounded  and  turned  back 
by  the  cordon  which  the  cautious  Gascon  had  placed 
round  the  house. 

It  has  taken  a  brief  space  again  to  describe  her  as 
she  came  crawling  into  the  light  from  the  darkness 
without,  but  Neil  saw  her  face  as  her  life  had  made 
it  for  an  instant  only.  Almost  as  he  leapt  aside 
Massoni's  pistol  rang  out,  a  knife  tinkled  on  the 
boards,  and  the  face  of  Craspinat  was  no  longer  a 
face — nothing  but  a  broadening  smear  of  crimson,  a 
ghastly  patch  fringed  by  shaggy  hair,  which  in  parts 
had  dropped  away — a  patch  which  seemed  to  quiver 
and  pulsate,  and  then  vanished  as  the  creature  pitched 
forward,  a  corpse,  upon  the  floor. 

The  curl  of  the  smoke  had  not  drifted  from  the 
pistol's  muzzle  when,  with  a  crack  of  metal  and  a 
splintering  of  wood,  the  door  gave  way,  and  Jules 
Gironde,  with  half  a  dozen  men  at  his  back,  burst 
into  the  room.  The  Gascon  took  in  the  situation  at 
1 8— a 


276          VENGEANCE   IS  MINE 

a  glance.  There  was  a  tall  man  with  his  back  to  him 
covering  Neil  Darroch  with  a  pistol,  therefore  that  man, 
Carlo  Massoni,  the  Corsican,  must  die.  Gironde,  quick 
as  lightning,  pitched  up  his  weapon  and  crooked  his 
forefinger.  Two  reports,  one  following  the  other  as  if 
it  were  its  echo,  resounded  through  the  room,  and  yet 
Massoni  had  not  again  fired. 

Neil  Darroch,  bewildered  for  a  moment,  had  taken 
in  the  meaning  of  what  was  passing  a  second  later 
than  Gironde.  He  also  levelled  his  pistol  at  the 
Corsican,  aiming  low  and  sure ;  but  even  as  his 
finger  tightened  on  the  trigger,  he  perceived  what 
would  happen,  yet  could  not  check  his  fire. 

The  pistol  exploded,  and  Neil  Darroch,  from  his 
corner,  saw  two  men  fall.  The  first  was  Massoni, 
who  jerked  up  his  head,  threw  out  his  arms,  and 
crashed  out  at  full  length  upon  his  back.  The  second 
was  Gironde,  who  collapsed  in  a  heap,  and  then  rose 
upon  his  knees  and  hobbled  forward  upon  them  till 
he  could  clutch  the  table-edge.  His  eyes  were  start- 
ing from  his  head,  a  ruddy  stream  began  to  trickle 
over  his  lower  lip  and  course  down  his  chin. 

With  a  cry  of  agony  Neil  Darroch  ran  towards 
him,  while  no  one  else  stirred  except  Massoni,  whose 
legs  were  twitching  like  those  of  a  pithed  frog  in  con- 
tact with  vinegar  paper. 

But  the  Gascon  was  past  all  help.  His  head 
drooped,  he  grew  limp,  as  if  dead,  and  then  suddenly 
he  roused  himself.  He  gathered  his  short  legs  beneath 
him,  and  struggled  up  on  his  feet,  a  gleam  in  his 
faded  eyes,  a  look  on  his  face  which  Neil  Darroch 
knew,  which  he  had  seen  upon  the  brig  Inconstant 
when  Jules  Gironde  met  his  master  after  five  weary, 
suffering  years.  Very  waveringly  his  hand  went  up 
to  the  salute.  It  never  reached  his  forehead.  It  fell 
for  the  last  time  as  his  lips  moved. 

Neil  Darroch  alone  heard  his  dying  whisper — a 
whisper  stifled  by  a  fresh  gush  from  between  his 
feebly  moving  lips. 


IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE      277 

'  Pour  1'Empereur !'  gasped  Jules  Gironde,  and 
sank  down  across  the  table. 

It  was,  perhaps,  as  well,  for  what  would  the  faithful 
Gascon  have  said  to  the  sauve  qui  pent  of  Buona- 
parte's last  battle  ? 


CHAPTER  IX. 

IN   THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE 

GIRONDE  was  dead,  Massoni  was  dead,  Cras- 
pinat  was  dead,  but  a  man  was  sitting  in 
the  corner  of  a  cell  of  the  Temple,  a  prison 
set  apart  for  State  offenders  and  criminals  of  the 
higher  class.  In  several  ways  he  was  remarkable. 
His  great  height  was  apparent  even  as  he  sat,  bowed 
upon  a  small  bench ;  he  was  young,  powerful,  and  his 
face  was  distinctly  handsome,  his  features  clear-cut 
and  refined.  But  what  would  specially  have  struck 
an  observer  was  his  expression.  It  was  that  of  a 
man  who  has  been  dazed  and  has  not  yet  recovered, 
whose  senses  are  under  a  cloud.  It  was  not  the 
vacant  look  of  utter  idiocy,  neither  was  it  the 
besotted,  wandering,  shiftless  aspect  of  the  chronic 
drunkard ;  it  was  something  between  the  two — a 
kind  of  facial  mask.  The  mental  powers  which  go 
to  make  a  vigorous,  healthy  mind  were  present,  but 
they  were  in  abeyance.  His  brain-cells  were  normal, 
but  their  action  was  sluggish,  their  stream  of  energy 
feeble,  and  coursing  only  in  certain  broad  channels. 
This  man  could  eat  and  drink,  could  understand 
what  was  said  to  him,  and  answer  coherently,  but 
without  evincing  any  interest  in  the  subject.  His 
memory  was  dulled,  but  not  quite  gone.  Now  and 
then  he  passed  his  hand  wearily  across  his  forehead, 
and  his  face  grew  pained  in  his  effort  to  recall  what 
was  just  then  a  blank.  Otherwise  he  was  singularly 
impassive,  and  apparently  contented  with  his  bed  of 


278          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

straw  and  his  meagre  fare.  His  gaoler  understood 
him ;  for  the  turnkey  had  seen  dainty  women  of  the 
aristocracy  with  just  such  a  look  upon  their  poor  wan 
faces,  due  to  a  variety  of  causes,  any  one  of  which 
would  have  been  sufficient  to  shake  the  best-balanced 
brain. 

He  knew  that  his  prisoner  was  in  a  condition  where 
liberties  might  be  safely  taken  with  him  ;  he  might 
be  cuffed  and  kicked  and  sworn  at  with  impunity  ; 
but  the  gaoler  was  a  kindly  man,  if  somewhat  rough- 
tongued,  and  did  not  make  the  most  of  his  oppor- 
tunities. 

Now  he  was  glad  he  had  not  done  so,  for  that 
morning  he  had  received  certain  orders  respecting 
his  captive  which,  while  they  considerably  astonished 
him,  left  him  no  option  but  to  obey.  They  came 
from  the  Duke  of  Otranto,  and  commanded  the 
release  of  Noel  Deschamps,  and  his  transference  to 
the  care  of  a  certain  Sergeant  Vichery,  and  this  but 
two  days  after  his  admission  on  a  serious  charge  of 
conspiring  against  the  Emperor's  life. 

But  Fouche*  was  cunning.  Even  as  David  placed 
Uriah  the  Hittite  in  the  forefront  of  the  battle,  and 
hoped  to  hear  the  last  of  him,  so  Fouche",  on  learning 
the  condition  into  which  the  tragedy  of  the  house 
in  the  Rue  de  Gramont  had  cast  his  prisoner,  and 
knowing  that  he  had  been  intimate  with  Gironde, 
considered  it  expedient  to  hurry  him  off  to  a  place 
where  he  certainly  could  do  no  harm,  and  might  do 
good  by  deserting  or  being  put  hors  de  combat.  It 
was  his  surest  course. 

Sergeant  Vichery  appeared  in  due  course,  an  old 
campaigner,  with  a  fine  grog-blossom  of  a  nose,  and  a 
moustache  whose  spiked  ends  might  have  served 
as  bayonets  at  close  quarters. 

He  was  delighted  with  the  proportions  of  his  latest 
recruit,  and  as  he  was  kept  in  ignorance  of  his 
mental  condition,  it  was  some  time  before  he  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  this  great  grenadier  of  a  fellow 


IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE      279 

was  a  fool  of  a  man,  and  a  greater  fool  of  a  soldier. 
His  little  company,  half  conscripts,  half  veterans,  were 
well  on  their  way  to  Avesnes  ere  he  discovered  that 
some  of  Deschamps's  brains  were  missing.  By  that 
time,  however,  he  had  discovered  something  else — 
that  this  stolid,  impassive  mortal,  who  at  a  dozen 
yards  looked  the  beau-ideal  of  a  guardsman,  had  the 
skin  of  his  back  dotted  and  striped  like  that  of  a 
galley-slave. 

Jacques  Vichery  imagined  a  tragedy,  and  became 
sympathetic.  Truth  to  tell,  his  own  back  was  not 
as  smooth  as  it  might  have  been.  Sergeant  Vichery 
as  a  private  had  been  an  inveterate  looter,  and  should 
have  been  shot  long  ago. 

So  he  made  things  easy  for  Neil  Darroch,  who 
trudged  along  in  his  shako,  his  tailed  tunic  and  his 
gaiters,  white  with  June  dust  from  top  to  toe,  in  as 
great  a  haze  outwardly  as  inwardly. 

He  answered  his  comrades  in  monosyllables,  he 
never  spoke  except  when  questioned,  he  did  nothing 
of  his  own  initiative.  He  was  a  mere  automaton  ; 
but  as  Jacques  Vichery  said  : 

'  I've  seen  them  so.  Wait  till  we  get  at  the  fat 
Prussians  or  the  red-coats,  and  then  watch  our  pretty 
sleeper.  He'll  wake  up  with  a  vengeance,  and  even 
if  he  don't,  he's  as  good  food  for  powder  and  shot  as 
any  of  you  chatterers.  We  don't  want  him  for  a 
sentry,  and  he  can  hit  a  barn-door  as  well  as  some  of 
your  precious  clodhoppers.  My  faith  !  he  could  lunge 
with  a  bayonet  See  him  smile !  He  has  more  wits 
than  we  think.'  And  the  sergeant  patted  his  especial 
prote'ge'  on  the  cheek  as  though  he  had  been  a  baby. 

There  was  plenty  to  interest  Neil,  had  he  been  in  a 
fit  state  to  appreciate  it  The  summer  was  glorious, 
the  grass  lush  and  green,  the  crops  heavy.  From 
every  road,  as  they  approached  the  frontier,  came  the 
<feirring  q«fek  3i»Hrch  of  drum  and  fife,  the  merry 
rattle  and  the  lively  tootling  sounding  between  the 
thick  beech-hedges,  aad  broken  now  and  then  by  the 


28o         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

throaty  bugle  music  or  the  quick  chorus  of  a  marching 
song. 

Cavalry  clattered  past,  artillery  rumbled  and  rattled 
through  sleepy  villages,  watched  from  the  cottage- 
doors  by  bright-eyed  children,  who  were  yet  to  tell 
their  sons  and  daughters  how  they  had  seen  the 
gathering  of  the  last  grand  army  of  France. 

Vichery's  little  company  belonged  to  a  regiment  in 
the  division  commanded  by  the  Baron  Marcognet, 
which  formed  part  of  the  Corps  d'Erlon.  This  first 
Corps  d'Arme'e  had  been  stationed  at  Lille,  but  had 
now,  along  with  the  others,  concentrated  upon  the 
Sambre. 

Sergeant  Vichery  was  late  in  joining — had,  indeed, 
been  kept  in  Paris  on  a  special  mission.  He  was  to 
collect  some  thirty  men  who  were  on  leave  and  hurry 
them  to  the  front,  and  in  the  meantime  he  had  not 
been  idle.  A  dozen  stout  fellows  had  found  fighting 
Jacques's  tongue  so  persuasive,  and  the  glories  of  the 
coming  campaign  so  enticing,  that  they  had,  after  a 
heavy  supper,  vowed  to  follow  the  gallant  sergeant 
anywhere  he  might  choose  to  lead  them,  so  long  as 
they  got  a  chance  at  the  hated  Prussians,  and  '  those 
unknown  devils  of  Englishmen  who  had  been  so 
lucky  in  the  Peninsula — confound  their  ugly  faces !' 

It  was  a  very  proud  old  sergeant,  with  a  very  fiery 
nose,  who  marched  his  comrades  and  his  recruits  into 
quarters  at  Solre-sur-Sambre,  where  lay  over  forty 
thousand  of  what  poor  Jules  Gironde  would  have 
styled  '  the  finest  infantry  on  earth.' 

Neil  Darroch  passed  almost  unnoticed.  The 
surgeon  did  not  trouble  him,  and  the  soldiers  were 
too  busy  to  take  an  interest  in  this  new  conscript,  who 
had  no  business  to  be  there  at  all,  and  who  had  not  a 
sou  in  his  pouch. 

Old  Vichery  was  a  favourite,  and  his  officers  only 
laughed  at  his  '  chickens,'  as  they  called  his  recruits, 
and  told  the  sergeant  to  turn  them  out  efficient  in 
a  couple  of  days,  which  terrible  task  the  smiling 


IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE      281 

Jacques  undertook  with  the  greatest  delight,  and 
Vichery's  '  chickens  '  had  no  rest,  morning,  noon,  or 
night. 

It  was  on  June  14  that  the  Emperor  issued  his 
last  appeal  to  as  fine  an  army  as  he  had  ever  placed 
in  the  field.  Well  might  it  stir  his  veterans !  Well 
might  it  be  received  with  unbounded  enthusiasm,  and 
excite  the  highest  hopes  ! 

'Soldiers,'  it  ran,  'this  day  is  the  anniversary  of 
Marengo  and  of  Friedland,  which  twice  decided  the 
destiny  of  Europe.  Then,  as  after  Austerlitz,  as 
after  Wagram,  we  were  too  generous.  We  believed 
in  the  protestations  and  in  the  oaths  of  princes  whom 
we  left  on  their  thrones.  Now,  however,  leagued 
together,  they  aim  at  the  independence  and  the  most 
sacred  rights  of  France.  They  have  commenced  the 
most  unjust  of  aggressions.  Let  us,  then,  march  to 
meet  them.  Are  they  and  we  no  longer  the  same 
men? 

'  Soldiers,  at  Jena,  against  these  same  Prussians, 
now  so  arrogant,  you  were  one  to  three,  and  at  Mont- 
mirail  one  to  six  !  Let  those  among  you  who  have 
been  captives  to  the  English  describe  the  nature  of 
their  prison-ships,  and  the  frightful  miseries  they 
endured. 

'  The  Saxons,  the  Belgians,  the  Hanoverians,  the 
soldiers  of  the  Confederation  of  the  Rhine,  lament 
that  they  are  compelled  to  use  their  arms  in  the 
cause  of  the  princes,  the  enemies  of  justice  and  of  the 
rights  of  all  nations.  They  know  that  this  coalition 
is  insatiable.  After  having  devoured  twelve  millions 
of  Poles,  twelve  millions  of  Italians,  one  million  of 
Saxons,  and  six  millions  of  Belgians,  it  now  wishes 
to  devour  the  States  of  the  second  rank  in  Germany. 

'  Madmen  !  one  moment  of  prosperity  has  bewil- 
dered them.  The  oppression  and  the  humiliation 
of  the  French  people  are  beyond  their  power.  If 
they  enter  France  they  will  find  their  grave. 

'  Soldiers,  we  have  forced  marches  to  make,  battles 


282          VENGEANCE   IS  MINE 

to  fight,  dangers  to  encounter,  but  with  firmness 
victory  will  be  ours  !  The  rights,  the  honour,  and 
the  happiness  of  the  country  will  be  recovered  ! 

'  To  every  Frenchman  who  has  a  heart  the  moment 
has  now  arrived  to  conquer  or  to  die !' 

Had  Neil  Darroch  been  in  a  condition  to  under- 
stand it,  one  clause  must  surely  have  struck  him, 
one  in  which  there  was  no  note  of  triumph,  no  con- 
juring up  of  past  glories,  nothing  but  an  inciting  to 
revenge,  an  appeal  to  the  baser  passions. 

Of  all  the  nations  across  which  the  shadow  of 
Napoleon  Buonaparte  had  fallen,  one  alone  had  been 
able  to  utterly  defy  him,  had  never  been  trampled 
under  foot.  The  children  of  the  sea  kings  alone  had 
not  bowed  the  knee  to  Baal. 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  following  the  march 
began,  and  in  the  dull  gray  light  of  a  balmy  summer's 
dawn  the  French  left  column  came  in  contact  with 
the  Prussians,  and  the  boom  of  cannon  told  that  the 
campaign  had  commenced.  All  that  day  Neil 
Darroch  marched  in  the  rear  of  his  division.  He 
saw  nothing  of  the  fighting  in  front  of  him,  of  the 
gallant  stand  of  the  Westphalian  Landwehr  and 
their  bloody  defeat,  of  the  fierce  charge  of  the 
French  cavalry  on  Woisky's  dragoons.  He  merely 
trudged  along  untiringly,  to  all  appearance  unmoved 
by  the  sounds  of  war  which  struck  upon  his  unaccus- 
tomed ears.  His  nearest  comrades  gave  him  up  in 
despair ;  they  could  not  get  a  word  out  of  this  phleg- 
matic mortal,  who  smiled  peaceably  upon  them,  and 
seemed  in  a  dream. 

'  A  touch  of  the  sun  or  a  touch  of  the  heart,'  said 
the  one  to  the  other,  nudging  his  fellow  and  point- 
ing to  Neil,  as,  tired  and  dusty,  they  settled  to  their 
soup  and  bread  in  the  bivouac  at  Marchienne  au 
Pont. 

They  were  still  more  tired  and  still  more  dusty, 
and  not  a  little  disgusted  at  their  next  bivouac  ;  for 
it  was  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  of  the  i6th  that 


IN  THE   DAY  OF   BATTLE      283 

the  Corps  d'Erlon  encamped  in  the  rear  of  Ney's 
position,  to  the  south  of  the  heights  of  Frasne. 

All  day  long  the  division  had  marched  and  coun- 
termarched, and  a  battle  had  been  lost  because  of 
them.  Hurrying  to  join  Ney,  who  was  in  sore  need 
of  reinforcements,  they  had  been  checked  and  hurried 
away  towards  Ligny,  where  was  waging  an  heroic 
struggle.  Scarcely  had  they  come  in  sight  of  Fleurus, 
when  once  again  their  advance  had  been  interrupted, 
and  they  had  swung  back  towards  Quatre  Bras, 
where  the  rye-fields  were  soaked  with  the  blood  of 
gallant  men,  the  ditches  lined  with  dead,  the  wood 
of  Bossu  full  of  wounded,  who  sought  a  shelter  in 
its  depths  from  the  dread  artillery  fire  and  the 
thundering  charge  of  horse. 

It  was  night,  and  the  British  and  their  allies  held 
the  stricken  field.  All  that  French  daring  and 
French  valour  could  do  had  been  done  that  day,  but 
they  had  been  met  by  that  coolness  and  dogged 
resolve  which  is  the  glory  of  the  men  in  red.  The 
squares,  those  grim,  fire-encircled  squares,  had  stood 
firm.  Cuirassiers  and  lancers  had  rolled  in  succes- 
sive waves  upon  them,  had  even  broken  through  to 
their  centre,  but  had  melted  away,  and  rolled  back 
before  their  volleys  and  their  bayonets.  Surely  a 
fitting  prelude  to  the  final  struggle  !  It  was  night,  but 
there  was  not  as  yet  that  dead  stillness  which  was 
to  reign  over  both  camps.  The  surgeons  were  busy, 
the  wounded  were  being  carried  to  the  rear,  the  fires 
were  twinkling  in  long  lines  in  the  valley  and  upon 
the  heights. 

Gradually  the  voices  ceased,  the  sleep  of  exhaustion 
spread  from  one  to  another,  coming  to  the  wearied 
marcher  and  the  wearied  fighter.  The  distant  echo 
of  trampling  hoofs  alone  broke  the  silence  as  the 
allied  cavalry  joined  their  comrades. 

Suddenly  another  sound  rose  upon  the  night  air. 
Softened  by  distance,  it  floated  to  the  French  lines 
as  a  low  wailing  music,  weird  and  melancholy,  a 


284         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

strange,  wild,  tremulous  sobbing,  its  sonorous  bray 
and  harsh  war-like  notes  mellowed,  its  droning  and 
its  skirl  mingled  and  dying  away  in  a  plaintive  call 
like  the  lonely  cry  of  a  shore  bird  quavering  out  into 
the  darkness. 

A  piper  of  the  Black  Watch  was  playing  a  lament 
for  his  kilted  lads  who  lay  amongst  the  down-trodden, 
blood-soaked,  heavy-eared  rye,  and  would  never  again 
listen  to  drone  and  chanter. 

It  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  began.  A  sleepy 
officer  had  ordered  him  to  keep  quiet,  and  yet 
without  an  oath,  for  the  burly  piper  had  great  tears 
stealing  down  his  cheeks,  and  the  officer  knew  it,  and 
knew  the  mournful  dirge  of  the  broken  clan. 

But  elsewhere  as  the  first  notes  stole  out  upon  the 
night  air,  a  man  started  up  from  the  knapsack  which 
served  him  for  a  pillow  and  listened  with  straining 
ears  and  bated  breath.  What  was  this  he  heard? 
He  conld  not  understand,  but  a  fierce  restlessness 
fastened  upon  him.  Something  called  him,  was 
calling  him  impatiently,  he  could  not  stay.  Ere  the 
sound  died  away  he  was  crawling  on  his  hands  and 
knees  with  his  face  towards  the  north.  On  and 
on,  past  men  slumbering  heavily,  picking  his  way 
cunningly  as  a  cat,  warily  halting,  sinking  to  earth, 
on  and  on  till  he  was  out  in  the  open,  and  then  again 
amongst  sleeping  forms  grouped  in  fantastic  attitudes 
round  the  flickering  wood  fires.  He  was  in  danger, 
and  he  seemed  to  know  it,  for  he  grew  more  and  more 
cautious,  waiting  for  longer  intervals,  taking  advantage 
of  every  bush  and  every  little  mound.  Men  stirred 
and  he  lay  like  a  log,  they  snored  and  he  glided  past 
them. 

There  was  something  animal-like  in  his  stealthy 
movements.  It  was  a  mere  instinct  which  guided 
him.  Now  and  then  a  soldier  would  start  up  crying 
loudly  in  his  sleep,  his  brain  busy  with  what  had 
passed,  but  his  comrades,  rising  on  their  elbows  to 
curse  him,  saw  nothing  to  cause  them  alarm. 


IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE      285 

Neither  did  the  sentry,  for  lean  fingers  gripped  his 
throat  from  behind  and  a  blackness  came  over  him, 
while  a  stooping  figure  crept  down  the  slope  without 
a  sound. 

The  man  was  away  on  the  right  of  the  French 
position,  far  to  the  east  of  the  Charleroi  road,  and 
once  clear  of  the  lines,  he  halted. 

There  was  no  longer  any  sound.  He  listened 
intently,  and  then  swept  his  hand  across  his  forehead. 
The  act  had  become  mechanical.  He  did  not  know 
what  he  was  doing,  why  he  was  here,  who  or  what  he 
was.  He  felt  tired,  and  lay  down  upon  the  bare 
earth  like  a  brute  beast 

An  hour  before  daybreak  he  was  roused  again,  this 
time  by  heavy  firing.  He  stared  dully  about  him, 
and  then,  breaking  into  a  run,  went  swiftly  towards 
it.  It  was  merely  an  affair  of  picquets,  beginning  at 
Piermont ;  but  it  spread  rapidly,  till  the  whole  face 
of  each  line  was  engaged.  It  soon  ended,  once  the 
cause,  a  straying  cavalry  patrol,  had  been  discovered. 
But  by  that  time  the  man  was  stretched  senseless  on 
his  back.  A  spent  bullet  had  taken  him  on  the  skull, 
and  though  it  had  glanced  off,  its  impact  had 
been  sufficient  to  effectually  quieten  his  wandering 
wits. 

A  shock  may  dull  the  senses,  a  shock  may  quicken 
them  to  life.  When  Neil  Darroch  regained  conscious- 
ness, he  was  no  longer  the  same  man  who  had  groped 
his  way  clear  of  the  French  army,  more  by  luck  than 
good  guidance.  He  found  himself  lying  in  a  grass 
field,  his  face  turned  up  to  the  sky,  while  his  head 
throbbed,  and  there  was  crusted  blood  amongst  his 
hair. 

He  was  bewildered  to  find  himself  in  a  uniform, 
wounded,  and  lying  out  in  the  open  amongst  a  patch 
of  long  rank  grass,  brown  and  sere,  which  had  escaped 
the  sickle.  He  had  been  wakened  by  the  splashing  of 
heavy  rain -drops  on  his  upturned  face.  A  thunder- 
shower,  almost  tropical  in  violence,  was  pouring  in 


286          VENGEANCE   IS  MINE 

sheets  upon  the  parched  ground.  Masses  of  black 
cloud  obscured  the  sun,  and  heaven's  artillery  was 
rumbling,  and  now  and  then  crashing  out  in  startling 
peals. 

The  storm  which  burst  over  the  combatants  in  the 
cavalry  charge  at  Genappe  had  travelled  south,  and 
was  now  deluging  the  deserted  field  of  Quatre  Bras 
and  the  heights  of  Frasne. 

Neil  Darroch  staggered  to  his  feet,  sick  and  faint ; 
but  his  memory  had  returned  to  him,  save  that  all 
which  had  happened  since  the  fatal  night  in  the  house 
of  the  conspirators  was  a  blank. 

He  remembered  only  too  clearly  how  Gironde 
had  fallen,  the  terrible  accident  which  had  made 
an  end  of  the  friendly  little  Gascon.  He  groaned 
as  he  thought  of  it,  and  then  stared  dully  about 
him. 

Where  was  he  now  ?  How  came  he  to  be  dressed 
like  a  French  infantryman  of  the  line  ?  Surely  he 
must  be  dreaming !  But  no,  he  was  in  a  hollow  with 
a  steep  slope  on  one  side  of  him  and  a  more  gradual 
ascent  on  the  other.  The  grass  around  was  trampled 
as  though  by  many  feet,  but  nothing  living  was  in 
sight.  There  was  something  horrible  in  this  uncer- 
tainty. 

How  long  was  it  since  he  had  dashed  forward  to 
catch  the  senseless  form  of  the  one  man  who  had 
proved  himself  a  friend  indeed,  and  whom  he  had 
killed  ?  Yes,  killed,  however  unwittingly.  He  buried 
his  aching  head  in  his  hands,  and  summoned  all  his 
energies  in  a  desperate  endeavour  to  bridge  the  gap. 
It  was  in  vain.  He  must  have  been  mad — he  had 
heard  of  such  things.  And  what  then  ?  He  had  per- 
haps enlisted — become  the  grenadier  the  Emperor 
had  called  him.  But  he  was  wounded.  Had  there 
been  a  battle  ?  had  he  been  left  as  dead  ? 

He  cried  aloud  in  his  misery  of  thought.  What 
fate  was  this  which  had  befallen  him  ? 

Unable  to  remain  still,  he  set  off  at  a  hurried  walk, 


IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE      287 

striding  aimlessly  up  the  more  gentle  slope,  which 
was  laid  out  in  fields,  dotted  with  trees  and  streaked 
by  hedges.  The  rain  soaked  him,  but  he  heeded  it 
not.  The  air  was  close  and  steamy.  It  was  evidently 
late  in  the  day. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  already  growing  dark. 
He  had  lain  for  hours  where  the  bullet  had  stretched 
him  out,  and  the  French  army  had  swept  past  him  in 
pursuit  of  the  allied  forces,  which  were  falling  back  on 
Waterloo.  Hidden  by  the  long  grass,  none  had 
noticed  him,  as  he  had  fallen  considerably  to  the 
right  of  the  route  followed  by  the  main  body  of  Ney's 
battalions. 

Soon  he  could  no  longer  doubt  that  his  supposi- 
tions were  correct.  He  came  upon  a  pool  of  water, 
and  lying  at  its  edge  was  the  body  of  a  man  in  the 
uniform  of  the  chasseurs  a  cheval.  His  head  was 
hidden  beneath  the  surface.  It  was  plain  that  he  had 
been  wounded,  and  had  crawled  here  to  die.  A  little 
further  and  he  was  amongst  more  corpses,  dead  bodies 
of  men  and  horses  in  every  attitude  it  is  possible  to 
conceive. 

He  went  from  one  to  another,  and  then  suddenly 
he  gave  a  choking  cry,  and  came  to  a  dead  halt.  At 
his  feet  lay  a  Scottish  Highlander,  his  bare  knees 
sticking  up  from  the  kilt  folds,  both  his  hands  still 
gripping  a  musket  by  the  barrel.  Three  French 
soldiers  of  the  line,  their  heads  battered  out  of  all 
shape,  lay  around  him.  He  had  died  hard,  this  Celt, 
and  he  seemed  to  know  it,  for  the  rain-drops  pattered 
down  upon  a  grinning  face. 

Neil  Darroch,  however,  scarcely  noticed  this.  It 
was  the  dress,  the  tartan,  which  fascinated  him.  Here, 
at  last,  was  a  countryman  of  his  own,  one  of  the 
Highland  Brigade.  He  stooped  over  him,  and  read 
his  number.  It  was  the  92nd.  The  man  was  a 
Gordon. 

'  God  help  me  !'  muttered  Neil.  '  I  have  been  fight- 
ing against  my  own  folk.1  With  a  couple  of  quick 


288         VENGEANCE   IS  MINE 

jerks  he  tore  the  coarse  epaulettes  from  his  shoulders, 
and  trampled  them  under  foot. 

'  I  have  been  mad  !'  he  moaned.  '  I  have  been  mad 
all  these  long  months,  and  this  is  a  judgment  upon  me.' 

A  hundred  memories  crowded  upon  his  disordered 
brain — memories  of  his  old  home,  the  great  lone  hills, 
the  surf-beat  of  the  western  sea  on  the  Croban,  and 
the  sandy  bay  of  Shiachan.  He  had  fancied  he  was 
an  Ishmael  amongst  men — a  man  without  a  country 
or  a  people,  but  he  could  no  longer  deceive  himself. 
The  blood  of  his  race  was  too  strong  for  him.  He 
might  be  partly  French  by  descent,  but  he  was  a 
Darroch — a  Darroch  and  a  Scot. 

A  new  idea  occurred  to  him.  Perhaps  he  had  paid 
his  debt  to  Jules  Gironde,  to  the  cheery  little  spy  who 
had  been  so  anxious  that  he  should  serve  Napoleon. 
But  he  could  not  bear  to  think  of  his  dead  comrade. 
He  cursed  himself  for  a  murderer,  and  swearing  loudly 
in  his  frenzy,  he  started  off  again.  As  his  excitement 
lessened,  however,  he  became  conscious  of  his  soaking 
clothes.  He  was  drenched  to  the  skin,  and  the  storm 
showed  no  signs  of  abating,  though  the  thunder  had 
rolled  away  to  the  east  to  mutter  and  crash  over 
another  battle-field.  There  was  a  house  near  him, 
standing  all  by  itself  in  a  garden  full  of  fruit-trees 
and  flowers.  The  latter  had  been  crushed  into  the 
soil,  for  this  was  the  very  position  which  the  g2nd 
had  carried  at  the  bayonet  as  they  charged  from  the 
ditch  on  the  Namur  road. 

The  dead  did  not  lie  so  thickly  here.  The  burial 
parties  had  been  busy  the  night  before — busiest  where 
death  had  been  busiest  also.  The  glass  of  the 
windows  was  shattered,  the  door  hung  open,  half 
wrenched  from  its  hinges,  there  were  bullet-marks 
where  the  lead  had  splashed  upon  the  walls. 

Neil  entered,  and  stumbling  along  a  passage,  passed 
into  a  room.  A  gruesome  sight  greeted  him.  The 
place  had  been  the  kitchen  of  the  house,  and  through 
its  low  latticed  window  a  faint  stream  of  lurid  light 


IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE      289 

poured,  the  last  gleam  of  an  angry  sun  which  had 
forced  its  way  through  the  murky  clouds  and  the  rain- 
drops. A  table  lay  upon  its  side,  dishes  were  scattered 
on  the  floor,  the  dresser  broken,  the  whole  room  in  a 
wild  disorder. 

In  a  corner,  with  his  back  to  the  wall,  sat  a  gigantic 
Highlander,  one  of  the  biggest  men  Neil  Darroch  had 
ever  seen.  He  was  in  a  horrid  mess,  a  great  flap  of 
his  scalp  hanging  down  over  one  ear,  where  a  sabre- 
cut  had  sheared  to  the  bone.  A  bullet  had  passed 
through  his  abdomen,  but  he  was  still  alive.  His 
face,  that  of  a  man  about  the  middle  age,  was  ashen, 
with  dark  circles  about  his  eyes  ;  but  the  eyes  them- 
selves were  bright  and  feverish. 

'  So  here's  another  !'  he  cried  feebly  as  Neil  entered. 
'  You  need  not  be  scared,  my  mannie.  Nat  Gordon 
could  not  hurt  a  fly.  He'll  be  posted  as  missing, 
bless  your  heart !  A  queer  death  for  a  gentleman,  in 
a  hole  like  this.  Ay,  ay,  I'm  a  private,  a  — —  private, 
but  cousin  to  a  duke  for  all  that !' 

He  laughed  shrilly. 

'  What  do  you  want  ?'  he  asked.  '  Curse  you,  but 
I'll  have  to  give  you  the  French,  and  my  wits  are 
going.  I'm  cold  in  the  legs  ;  when  it  gets  up  here ' — 
he  patted  his  chest  lightly — '  I'll  be  missing :  a  queer 
death  for  a  gentleman.  Steady !  So  ho,  my  boy !'  he 
called  out  as  Neil  lurched  up  against  the  opposite 
wall.  '  Seems  to  me  we'll  go  out  together.  Answer 
to  the  roll-call  in  French,  ye  devil !' 

'  I'm  a  Scot  like  yourself,'  said  Neil  hoarsely. 

*  God  keep  ye  from  being  like  me !'  said  the  other 
solemnly ;  '  but  what  are  ye  doing  in  a  swallow-tail 
and  gaiters  ?  We  must  rig  ye  out,  ye  damned  de- 
serter, or  they'll  have  ye  at  the  drum-head  in  the 
morning — ay,  in  the  morning,  when  I'll  be  missing. 
They  wanted  to  carry  me  off,  but  I  wouldn't  trouble 
the  lads.  I  didn't  think  I'd  last,  and  it's  no  joke 
being  whummled  when  there's  a  hole  through  ye.' 

'  Can  I  help  you  ?'  asked  Neil,  shuddering  as  he 


29o          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

stared  at  this  wreck  of  a  man  who  made  a  jest  of  his 
sufferings. 

'  No,  no,  my  mannie.  The  thirst's  gone,  and  so's 
the  pain,  and  so  will  be  Nat  Gordon  in  a  wee  while — 
a  wee  while.' 

His  voice  had  grown  weaker  and  his  head  dropped. 
Neil  Darroch  sat  down  and  watched  him. 

An  hour  passed.  The  room  was  darkening,  and 
there  was  no  sound  but  the  constant  drip  of  the 
water-drops  and  the  laboured  breathing  of  the  man 
in  front  of  him. 

Neil  Darroch  had  much  to  ask  him,  but  bided  his 
time.  He  was  content  to  wait ;  for  when  next  the 
Highlander  opened  his  eyes  he  was  quite  sensible, 
though  his  voice  had  grown  weaker. 

4  Quick!'  said  Neil ;  *  tell  me,  there  has  been  a 
battle?1 

'A  bit  of  a  tulzie,'  said  the  soldier  with  a  wan 
smile.  He  spoke  like  a  gentleman  and  gazed  curi- 
ously at  Neil. 

'  The  French  won  ?' 

'  The  French !  Excuse  me,  sir,  but  are  you  not  a 
French  officer  ?' 

'  No,  no,'  answered  Neil.  '  My  story  is  too  long  to 
tell  you  ;  I'm  a  countryman  of  your  own.' 

'  Indeed,  it's  pleasant  to  have  kith  and  kin  about  ye 
at  the  bitter  end.  I  have  been  off  my  head  all  day  I 
think,  though  I  heard  the  French  passing.' 

'  They  won,  then  ?' 

'  Not  the  battle  of  yesterday.  But  we  were  to  fall 
back  on  Waterloo  if  the  Prussians  were  beaten.' 

'  And  where  may  that  be  ?' 

'  It's  on  the  Brussels  road,  straight  to  the  rear  of 
this.  If  ye  want  to  join  the  army,  ye'll  have  to  go 
round  about  and  look  out  for  French  troops  coming 
across  country.  We  heard  their  cannon  away  to  the 
east.  It'll  be  a  good  twenty  miles  of  a  tramp,  I 
should  say,  but  I'll  never  cover  it.' 

He  looked  wistfully  towards  the  window. 


IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE      291 

'  It  grows  dark,'  he  muttered — '  dark  and  very  cold.' 

'  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?'  asked  Neil. 

'  I've  been  a  fool  all  ray  life,'  said  the  man,  as  if  he 
had  not  heard  him. 

He  closed  his  eyes.  A  grayness  began  to  creep 
over  his  face.  Suddenly  he  struggled  up  and  sat  erect 
without  support. 

'  Hist!'  he  whispered.  'They're  yonder,  all  that's 
left  of  them,  and  they  want  the  flank  man  of  my 
company.' 

He  clutched  Neil's  arm  with  fingers  which  were 
already  stiffening. 

'  Will  you  go  for  me  ?'  he  cried,  turning  his  glazing 
eyes  on  Neil's  face,  his  lips  working  convulsively ; 
'  Ye'll  find  them  on  the  left.  Swear  you  will  go  for 
me,  or  I'll  be  posted  as  missing.' 

'  I  swear,'  said  Neil  Darroch  solemnly. 


It  was  about  eleven  o'clock  in  the  forenoon  of  the 
next  day  that  the  sound  of  the  cannonade  which  an- 
nounced the  attack  upon  Hougoumont  struck  faintly 
on  the  ears  of  a  man  who,  from  sheer  exhaustion, 
had  thrown  himself  down  on  the  ground  some  miles 
to  the  eastward  of  the  village  of  Ohain.  He  wore  a 
French  infantry  dress  minus  the  epaulettes,  and 
carried  with  him  a  musket  and  the  blood-stained 
uniform  of  a  private  in  the  92nd  regiment  of  British 
foot.  He  had  been  on  the  march  all  night,  stumbling 
along  the  muddy  lanes  which  led  northward  from 
the  river  Dyle  past  the  hamlets  of  Seroulx  and  St. 
Lambert.  Twice  he  had  watched  columns  of  men 
swing  past  him,  heading  to  the  east,  and  had  shaped  his 
course  accordingly.  He  had  begged  for  food  at  an 
isolated  farmhouse,  and  its  mistress  had  been  gracious 
to  him,  though  a  trifle  alarmed  at  the  wild  look  in 
the  man's  eyes,  and  the  grim,  stern  aspect  of  his  face. 
Neil  Darroch  was  doing  penance.  He  had  no  com- 
pass, and  it  was  a  wonder  he  had  got  so  near  the  left 
19—3 


292          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

of  the  British  position  as  he  had  done ;  but  he  had 
still  a  long  way  to  go.  He  would  fain  have  rested, 
but  the  fever  in  his  brain  urged  him  to  fresh  efforts. 

He  rose  and  set  off  in  the  direction  of  the  can- 
nonade. The  rain-clouds  were  dispersing ;  there  was 
a  gleam  of  watery  sunlight  and  every  promise  of  a 
fine  day.  As  he  pressed  on,  the  din  in  front  of  him 
grew  louder ;  he  could  distinguish  the  rattle  of 
musketry  volleys  mingling  with  the  heavy  boom  of 
field  artillery.  He  kept  away  to  his  right.  The  country 
was  well  wooded.  He  struck  a  cross  road  and  ad- 
vanced rapidly.  Presently  he  met  a  peasant  from 
whom  he  learned  that  he  was  heading  directly  for  the 
left  of  the  British  position  ;  that  a  few  miles  in  front 
was  a  village  occupied  by  the  allied  troops.  He 
inquired  its  name  ;  it  was  Papelotte. 

Though  his  ideas  were  still  confused,  though  he 
was  still  in  a  kind  of  frenzy,  there  was  a  strange 
method  about  all  his  actions.  He  questioned  the 
rustic  closely,  and  though  the  man  was  frightened  at 
his  appearance,  and  kept  glancing  fearfully  at  his 
musket,  he  seemed  to  answer  truthfully  and  to  the 
best  of  his  ability.  Neil  Darroch  therefore  retired 
into  a  patch  of  trees  as  soon  as  his  informant  was  out 
of  sight,  and  shortly  emerged  in  the  uniform  he  had 
taken  from  the  body  of  the  Gordon.  He  had  the 
height  but  not  the  bulk  of  the  dead  Highlander,  and 
the  tunic  hung  loosely  on  him.  A  cloth  was  bound 
about  his  head,  which  was  burning  hot,  and  there  were 
great  blood-stains  on  the  white  facings  and  the  red 
cloth,  and  on  the  green  tartan  of  the  kilt.  But  Neil 
Darroch  scarcely  noticed  them.  He  had  been  a 
traitor  to  his  country,  he  told  himself.  No  thought 
of  England,  of  the  scars  upon  his  back,  now  crossed 
his  mind.  He  had  sworn  to  take  the  dead  man's 
place  and  he  would  fulfil  his  vow.  The  idea  had 
taken  firm  hold  of  his  disordered  brain.  Thus,  and 
thus  alone,  could  he  atone  for  the  past. 

It  was  an  hour  after  mid-day  ere  he  drew  near 


IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE      293 

the  village.  He  could  no  longer  doubt  that  a  great 
battle  was  in  progress.  The  discharge  of  cannon  was 
incessant ;  he  could  hear  the  sharper  explosion  of 
shells,  the  crash  of  volleys,  and  the  shouts  and  cries 
of  the  combatants.  Faster  and  faster  he  hurried  for- 
ward, and  now  he  was  amongst  the  outposts,  men 
of  the  regiment  of  Nassau.  He  passed  them,  leaving 
them  staring  in  wonder  at  him ;  but  they  had  no 
time  to  question  him,  for  a  dropping  fire  was  already 
beginning  from  behind  the  hedges  and  enclosures. 
There  was  a  little  knoll  beyond  a  farmhouse,  and 
he  gained  its  summit.  At  once  there  was  dis- 
closed to  his  view  the  greater  part  of  the  field  of 
Waterloo. 

On  a  long  slope  away  to  the  south  were  dark 
masses  of  troops,  the  sunlight  flashing  from  the  steel 
points  amongst  them,  glancing  from  burnished  cuirass 
and  helmet  in  a  thousand  sparkles.  This  line  of 
elevated  ground  was  the  French  position,  and  its  left 
was  shrouded  in  drifting  smoke,  where  the  batteries 
were  covering  yet  another  fierce  assault  on  Hougou- 
mont,  wrapped  likewise  in  rolling,  sulphurous  clouds. 
The  plain  between  Hougoumont  and  the  height  was 
full  of  men,  the  light  troops  advancing  to  the  attack. 
The  roll  of  drums  came  distinctly  to  Neil  Darroch's 
ears  as  he  stood  motionless,  staring  at  the  scene. 

The  plain,  in  reality  a  shallow  valley,  was  clear, 
grass-covered,  and  gently  undulating  from  the  line 
of  the  Charleroi  and  Brussels  road  to  the  villages  of 
Papelotte  and  Smohain,  which  lay  just  below  it  and 
to  the  south.  Very  nearly  in  a  direct  line  with  the 
mound  on  which  he  was  posted  stretched  the  crest 
of  the  slope  which  formed  the  Allies'  position. 
Behind  him,  on  a  level  plateau,  were  cavalry,  the 
light  horse  of  Vivian  and  Vandeleur.  To  the  right  of 
these  stood  masses  of  men  clad  in  some  dark  uniform. 
They  were  Vincke's  and  Best's  brigades ;  but  Neil 
had  no  eyes  for  them.  Beyond  these,  and  partly 
hidden  by  them,  were  columns  in  red,  and  stretch- 


294         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

ing  from  the  latter  away  to  the  west  he  could  mark 
the  front  of  the  British  lines. 

About  their  centre,  in  front  of  it,  and  therefore  on 
the  southern  aspect  of  the  slope,  and  reaching  down 
to  the  hollow,  was  a  clump  of  wood.  It  marked  the 
position  of  La  Haye  Sainte ;  he  could  plainly  see 
the  farm-buildings.  The  right  of  the  Allied  position, 
like  the  French  left  which  it  approached,  separated 
from  it  by  little  more  than  the  lands  of  Hougoumont, 
was  enveloped  in  smoke,  and  from  it  came  the  distant 
roar  of  artillery,  and  the  ceaseless  report  of  a  brisk 
musketry  fire. 

It  takes  long  to  tell,  but  the  whole  prospect  was 
suddenly  presented  to  Neil's  astonished  gaze.  He 
saw  at  once  what  was  proceeding ;  he  knew  at  once 
what  he  must  do.  Turning,  he  began  to  run  in  a 
direction  which  would  bring  him  between  the  light 
horse  and  the  infantry  brigades  nearest  him. 

As  he  hurried  on,  his  musket  at  the  trail,  his 
bayonet  fixed,  a  mounted  officer  dashed  up  to  him. 

'  What  are  you  doing  here,  my  man  ?'  he  cried. 

Neil  made  no  answer. 

'  Great  Heavens  !'  said  the  officer.  '  You  must  be 
a  straggler  from  Quatre  Bras — 92nd  is  it  ?  That's 
Pack's  brigade.  They're  yonder  on  the  left,  behind 

and  to  the  right  of  the  Hanoverians  and  those  d d 

Belgians.'* 

'  Ay,'  said  Neil  quickly,  '  they're  on  the  left.  I 
was  to  find  them  on  the  left.' 

'  And  so  you  will,  my  lad  ;  and  you're  just  in 
time  for  the  fun.  Yonder  they  come.  Thunder ! 
what  a  sight !' 

Well  might  he  say  so.  As  Neil  hastened  off  in 
the  direction  indicated,  a  course  which  carried  him 
away  from  the  summit  of  the  ridge,  and  down  the 
very  gentle  incline  of  its  northern  face,  so  concealing 

*  The  officer  was  in  error.  The  Dutch  Belgians  formed 
Bylandt's  brigade,  considerably  to  the  right,  and  somewhat  in 
advance  of  the  other  troops. 


IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE     295 

from  his  view  the  open  plain  and  what  was  occurring 
there,  the  Emperor  launched  his  great  assault  on  the 
Allied  left  and  centre. 

Vast  columns  of  infantry  crowned  the  French  ridge 
and  swung  down  the  slope,  their  drums  beating  the 
charge,  their  shouts  rending  the  sky  till  drowned  by 
the  terrific  report  of  four-and-seventy  cannon,  which 
hurtled  their  iron  hail  over  the  heads  of  the  attacking 
force,  playing  with  deadly  effect  on  the  advanced 
Allied  troops. 

The  conformation  of  the  ground  sheltered  him 
from  the  artillery  fire,  which  was  playing  havoc 
amongst  the  faint-hearts  of  Bylandt's  brigade.  He 
heard  their  cries  as  they  broke  and  fled  the  moment 
the  French  columns  came  within  musketry  range. 
He  heard  also  the  yells  and  hootings  of  the  enraged 
British  soldiery  as  the  rabble  poured  past  them,  but 
Pack's  battalions  intervened  between  him  and  the 
fugitives.  He  came  first  upon  an  English  regiment, 
the  44th,  but  an  officer,  labouring  under  great  excite- 
ment, cried  out  to  know  what  the  devil  he  was  doing 
there,  and  pointed  to  where,  in  a  thin  double  line, 
stood  a  Highland  regiment. 

It  was  the  g2nd.  A  hundred  yards  or  so  in  front 
of  them  was  a  hedge,  behind  them,  and  considerably 
to  their  right  rear,  a  body  of  red-coated  dragoons  on 
gray  horses.  The  men  of  the  44th,  recognising  in 
this  tall,  gaunt,  wounded  Highlander  a  relic  of  the 
fierce  contest  of  two  days  before,  cheered  him  loudly 
as  he  passed  in  front  of  them  and  between  the  rear 
ranks  of  Best's  Hanoverians. 

Neil  Darroch  never  heard  them,  for  at  that  moment 
from  beyond  the  crest  of  the  ridge  sounded  loud 
shouts,  and  immediately  the  front  files  came  bursting 
through  the  hedge. 

'  Vive  1'Empereur !'  they  cried ;  and  again,  '  En 
avant !  En  avant !'  but  their  leaders  halted  them  to 
give  them  time  to  re-form. 

Just  then  a  horseman — it  was  Pack  himself — spurred 


296          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

along  in  front  of  the  Gordons — of  the  230  men  who 
were  all  that  were  left  of  the  92nd,  and  who  were  to 
face  2,000,  amongst  whom  was  borne  the  eagle  of 
'  The  Invincibles.' 

'  Ninety-second,  you  must  charge.  All  in  front  of 
you  have  given  way  !'  cried  the  General,  waving  his 
cocked  hat  as  a  signal. 

A  mighty  cheer  answered  him,  and  loud  and  clear 
rang  out  the  war-pipes  as  the  double  line  of  kilted 
men  sprang  forward. 

Crash !  A  rolling  fire  burst  from  the  column  in 
front,  now  in  perfect  order,  but  on  swept  the  High- 
landers. 

The  French  lines  wavered.  They  seemed  struck 
with  fear  at  the  grim,  silent  advance  of  this  strangely 
clad  infantry,  with  their  huge  feather  bonnets  and 
swinging  tartans.  But  now  they  were  no  longer  silent. 
They  poured  in  a  volley  at  thirty  yards,  and  the 
bristling  line  of  bayonets  sank  to  the  charge.  With 
another  cheer  they  hurled  themselves  like  one  of  their 
own  raging  torrents  upon  the  foe.  But  what  noise 
was  this,  swelling  in  volume  till  the  air  was  full  of  it  ? 
— a  sound  like  distant  thunder,  or  a  breaking  sea,  the 
hoof-strokes  of  four  hundred  horse. 

The  Greys  were  coming.  They  had  passed  rapidly 
through  the  infantry  to  the  right,  and  were  now  in 
the  open,  gathering  way,  rushing  to  the  aid  of  their 
countrymen. 

'  Open  oot,  lads  I  for  God's  sake,  open  oot !'  yelled 
the  sergeants,  as  they  saw  behind  them  a  whirlwind 
of  gray  and  scarlet,  of  great  black  busbies  and 
glittering  steel.  In  a  moment  it  was  upon  them — the 
huge,  dapple  -  hided,  heavy- limbed  chargers,  with 
necks  outstretched,  blood-streaked  eyes,  and  spread- 
ing nostrils ;  the  troopers,  red-faced  and  drunk  with 
the  battle  fever,  rising  for  the  downward  cut,  or  sitting 
firm  for  the  shock. 

As  they  passed,  out  rang  the  slogan  of  the  North. 
'  Scotland  for  ever !'  shouted  horse  and  foot,  and 


IN  THE   DAY  OF  BATTLE      297 

crashed  together  on  the  broken,  swaying  front  of  the 
columns  of  Marcognet. 

Neil  Darroch  had  gone  with  the  Gordons,  running 
full  speed  in  rear  of  them,  seeing  nothing  but  a  red 
mist,  hearing  nothing  but  the  snarling  bray  of  the 
pipes. 

The  Highlanders  were  seizing  the  stirrup-leathers. 
Neil  Darroch  did  likewise  as  a  trooper  sped  past  him, 
a  man  whose  teeth  were  set,  who  went  gladly  seeking 
death,  and  never  looked  at  the  Gordon  who  was 
clinging  to  his  horse. 

Then  came  a  period  of  wild  confusion,  of  gallant 
deeds  and  gallant  deaths  ;  but  the  vast  unwieldy  mass 
of  infantry,  hampered  and  pierced  to  its  core,  gave 
way  on  every  side. 

Through  and  through  them  drove  the  heavy 
dragoons,  and,  dashing  across  an  intervening  space, 
plunged  madly  into  the  supports.  A  spluttering  fire 
broke  from  the  outer  files,  and  many  a  horse  was  rider- 
less and  many  a  trooper  horseless  ;  but  the  impetus 
was  tremendous,  the  force  of  the  charge  irresistible. 
Whole  ranks  were  driven  back  and  crushed  to  the 
earth,  the  columns  tottered  and  reeled  and  then  sank, 
defeated,  overwhelmed.  The  division  of  Marcognet 
was  a  mere  rabble,  but  the  victorious  Greys  away  out 
in  the  plain,  scattered  and  exhausted,  were  at  the 
mercy  of  the  French  lancers  and  chasseurs. 

While  the  dragoons  ploughed  their  way  through 
the  hapless  infantry,  where  veterans  were  vainly 
sacrificing  themselves  to  gain  room,  where  Sergeant 
Vichery  yielded  up  the  ghost,  split  from  skull-cap  to 
chin  by  the  famous  Ewart  in  the  struggle  for  the 
eagle,  Neil  caught  sight  of  the  face  of  the  man  who 
rode  beside  him.  Changed  though  it  was,  lean,  care- 
worn, and  now  lighted  up  by  the  mad  lust  of  fighting, 
he  recognised  it,  and  cried  out  in  his  astonishment. 
It  was  the  face  of  his  brother,  that  brother  who 
had  wronged  him,  with  whom  he  had  a  long  account 
Jo  settle.  The  trooper  glanced  down  at  him. 


298         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

'  Are  you  wounded  ?'  he  shouted.  '  I  can't  hold 
the  brute;  he's  got  the  bit,  and  is  fairly  off.  You 
had  better  let  go.' 

He  turned  to  slash  at  a  fierce  little  man  who  poked 
his  bayonet  at  him,  and  whose  head  he  cleft  as  he 
would  have  cleft  an  orange. 

Neil  Darroch  still  clung  on  desperately.  A  wild 
thought  had  come  into  his  mind — to  make  a  thrust 
at  the  broad  back  above  him.  It  passed  instantly. 
He  must  bide  his  time ;  he  was  not  an  assassin ; 
that  time  was  coming.  They  were  now  out  on  the 
plain.  The  horse,  maddened  with  pain  and  excite- 
ment, careered  towards  the  batteries,  yet  Neil  kept 
pace  with  it,  sustained  by  the  same  fiery,  restless 
spirit  which  had  possessed  him  ever  since  he  came  to 
his  senses  on  the  field  of  Quatre  Bras. 

But  a  bullet  from  one  of  the  fugitives  did  what  its 
rider  could  not  do.  The  charger  sprang  convulsively 
into  the  air,  pitched  forward  on  its  head,  and,  as  Neil 
Darroch  leapt  clear,  rolled  heavily  on  its  side,  pinning 
its  rider  beneath  it. 

The  dragoon  groaned  heavily:  his  leg  was  fractured 
at  the  thigh,  his  foot  crushed  and  useless.  As  he 
opened  his  eyes  and  realized  his  position,  he  became 
aware  of  a  man  bending  over  him,  whose  head  was 
bound  about  with  a  bloody  cloth,  whose  face,  haggard 
and  dirty,  yet  seemed  familiar. 

'  Never  mind  me,'  said  Geoffrey  in  a  low  voice ; 
'the  French  will  be  on  you  if  you  don't  look  out. 
Save  yourself  while  you  can.' 

By  way  of  answer  the  man  began  to  drag  him  free. 
So  exquisite  was  the  torture  his  mangled  limb  gave 
him  that  he  fainted.  When  he  came  to  himself  he 
was  on  the  Highlander's  back,  being  carried  slowly 
towards  the  rear.  Suddenly  the  man  laid  him  down 
and  stood  over  him  with  his  bayonet  at  the  charge. 

A  gray-haired  officer  of  French  chasseurs  came 
galloping  towards  them.  He  was  a  very  fine  man, 
with  a  heavy  moustache  and  a  pointed  beard. 


IN  THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE      299 

As  he  reached  them  a  curious  smile  and  a  look  of 
admiration  passed  over  his  face.  With  a  bow  and  a 
wave  of  his  hand  he  sped  on,  and  quickly  overtook 
a  dragoon,  whose  horse  was  blown,  and  whom  he 
despatched  with  ease,  only  to  receive  a  bullet  through 
his  own  head  five  minutes  later  from  a  crippled 
Gordon,  who  lay  quietly  behind  a  dead  charger, 
and  chuckled  grimly  as  he  saw  the  effect  of  his 
shot. 

As  Neil  Darroch  stooped  to  again  raise  his  brother, 
Geoffrey  seized  his  arm,  and  stared  eagerly,  wonder- 
ingly,  at  his  face. 

'  It  is  you  !'  he  gasped.  *  Thank  God  you  are  not 
dead  !' 

1  And  no  thanks  to  you,'  said  Neil  fiercely.  'You 
shall  yet  answer  to  me  for  your  work  !' 

The  other,  who  had  started  up,  sank  back. 

'  I  have  answered  for  it  already,'  he  moaned.  '  My 
life  has  been  a  hell  on  earth.  Leave  me  to  die  and 
save  yourself.' 

'  Never  1'  cried  Neil  Darroch,  and,  again  stooping, 
raised  him  and  began  his  retreat. 

It  was  too  late.  A  troop  of  lancers  caught  sight 
of  them,  and  with  loud  shouts  bore  down  at  full 
speed,  their  gay  pennons  fluttering,  their  shouts  of 
triumph  coming  shrilly  to  his  ears. 

Neil  Darroch  gave  one  glance  around  him.  There 
was  rescue  at  hand  :  the  light  horse  of  Vandeleur  was 
advancing  on  the  right,  more  British  cavalry  were 
sweeping  down  the  slope  to  take  the  lancers  on  the 
flank,  but  there  was  no  help  for  him  unless  he  left 
Geoffrey  to  his  fate. 

'  So  this  is  the  end,'  he  muttered ;  and  taking 
steady  aim,  dropped  one  of  the  Lancers  from  his 
saddle. 

Another  moment  and  they  were  upon  him.  For  a 
few  seconds  there  was  a  confused  group  of  men  and 
horses,  a  clashing  of  steel,  an  oath  or  two  in  French, 
and  the  troop,  with  another  vacant  saddle  and  a 


300         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

man  bent  in  agony  upon  his  crupper,  dashed  onward, 
and  were  rolled  up  and  swept  away  by  Ponsonby's 
dragoons. 

Out  in  the  open  lay  two  men,  the  one  a  mass  of 
wounds,  the  other  killed  by  a  lance  thrust. 

Such  was  Neil  Darroch's  revenge. 


CHAPTER  X. 

AFTER   MANY   DAYS 

UPON  Craspinat's  body,  scarce  more  hideous  in 
death  than  it  had  been  in  life,  were  found 
the  missing  papers.  This  at  first  was  looked 
upon  as  an  additional  proof  of  Kate  Ingleby's  guilt,  and 
she  was  immediately  arrested,  though  her  behaviour  on 
the  terrible  night  when  the  house  was  surrounded  and 
stormed  was  somewhat  puzzling  to  her  captors.  In 
the  confusion  consequent  upon  the  death  of  Gironde 
she  might  have  escaped.  None  had  paid  any  atten- 
tion to  her.  Indeed,  when  they  came  to  look  about 
them,  she  had  disappeared  ;  but  to  their  surprise  they 
speedily  found  her  again.  Stunned  by  grief  and  horror, 
she  had  slipped  away  to  the  room  where  at  last  Mon- 
sieur Deschamps  was  drawing  near  an  end  of  all  his 
troubles.  He  had  been  growing  feebler  day  by  day 
without  any  apparent  cause.  His  mind  was  dead, 
his  body  dying,  slowly  and  painlessly.  Presently,  as 
she  watched  him,  his  old  puckered  face,  now  almost 
devoid  of  expression,  wrinkled  into  a  vague  flickering 
smile.  He  struggled  up  in  bed  and  sat  with  a  hand 
behind  his  ear  in  the  attitude  of  one  who  listens.  His 
smile  increased.  It  was  plain  that  he  heard  some- 
thing very  pleasing.  As  he  listened  he  began  to  beat 
time — a  short,  stately  measure — with  the  forefinger 
of  his  other  hand. 

Though  the  girl  knew  it  not,  he  was  conducting  an 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS  301 

orchestra  which  was  playing  that  quaint  tinkling  music 
of  the  minuet  composed  a  century  and  more  before  by 
King  Louis  XIII. 

His  movement  ceased.  A  heavy  tear,  which  had 
gathered  on  his  drooping,  reddened  under-lid,  trickled 
slowly  down  his  furrowed  cheek,  but  he  did  not 
look  sad.  Indeed,  he  gave  a  sigh  of  great  content. 

'  C'est  paradis,'  he  muttered ;  'mai  oui,  c'est  paradis,' 
and  began  to  drag  the  bedclothes  about  him  with 
feeble  hands  ;  but  as  Kate  leaned  forward  to  help  him, 
her  own  face  wet,  the  change  came,  and  Charles 
Deschamps  passed  gladly  to  his  rest. 

By  his  side  they  found  Kate  Ingleby ;  and  though 
they  were  rough  men,  but  lately  full  of  fight  and  ready 
for  a  desperate  struggle,  she  had  no  reason  to  com- 
plain of  their  behaviour. 

'  It  is  la  belle  Americaine  !'  they  whispered.  '  Can 
she  be  guilty  ?'  And  they  shook  their  heads. 

For  all  that,  it  might  have  gone  hard  with  the  girl 
had  not  the  notary  come  to  the  rescue.  He  heard  of 
the  finding  of  his  late  client's  papers,  and  the  manage- 
ment of  Emile  d'Herbois'  affairs  meant  money  to 
him.  He  had  a  wife  and  family,  both  small,  but 
none  the  less  exacting,  and  so  he  bestirred  himself. 
Not  only  so,  but  the  girl's  misfortunes  moved  him  to 
pity.  He  was  a  Frenchman,  and  he  had  a  heart. 
Moreover,  he  had  a  very  smart  brain  when  he  cared 
to  tax  it  to  the  full,  and  Kate,  anxious  as  to  Neil 
Darroch's  fate,  and  realizing  that  she  had  misjudged 
her  uncle,  now  confided  in  his  lawyer,  and  with  the 
instinct  of  a  true  business  woman,  promised  to  retain 
his  services. 

He  very  soon  found  that  there  was  absolutely  no 
proof  against  her,  and  began  instituting  such  searching 
inquiries  that  the  Minister  of  Police,  who  was  already 
busy  intriguing  with  the  Bourbons,  was  but  too  glad 
to  accede  to  his  demand  for  a  release. 

The  first  use  Kate  Ingleby  made  of  her  freedom 
was  to  employ  the  notary,  and  as  much  money  as  by 


302          VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

the  terms  of  her  uncle's  will  she  could  command,  in 
a  search  for  Neil  Darroch,  who  she  found  passed 
under  the  name  of  Noel  Deschamps,  and  had 
been  sent  to  the  front  in  the  charge  of  a  certain 
Sergeant  Vichery,  attached  to  a  regiment  in  D'Erlon's 
corps. 

This  was  all,  and  the  man  of  law  shook  hits  head, 
especially  when  the  news  arrived  of  the  great  defeat, 
the  hurried  flight,  and  the  advance  on  Paris. 

But  Kate  was  determined.  It  would  be  the  basest 
ingratitude,  she  told  herself,  to  make  no  effort  to 
rescue  the  man  who  was  suffering  for  her  sake.  Her 
heart  told  her  a  great  deal  more,  but  she  would 
not  listen  to  its  promptings.  Besides,  a  great  fear 
possessed  her,  for  the  turnkey  at  the  Temple  had 
dilated  upon  his  prisoner's  peculiar  condition  of 
mind. 

In  spite  of  considerable  difficulty,  Kate  and  her 
adviser  managed  to  leave  Paris,  and  began  a  weary 
search,  and,  as  the  notary  remarked  testily,  one 
utterly  hopeless. 

'  Hopeless?'  answered  Kate ;  'it  cannot  be  until  we 
find  that  he  is  dead.  Stay  at  home,  if  you  are  afraid, 
but  I  am  going.' 

And  the  man  of  law,  wondering  if  all  American 
women  were  so  constituted,  and  thanking  his  guardian 
saint  that  he  did  not  practise  in  the  young  republic, 
had  perforce  to  follow  her. 

It  was  a  remarkable  but  not  unnatural  coincidence 
that,  while  Kate  Ingleby  and  the  notary  were  on  the 
track  of  Neil  Darroch,  a  certain  solicitor  of  Glasgow, 
to  wit,  Mr.  Benjamin  Quill,  senior  partner  of  the  firm 
of  Quill  and  Driver,  should  have  arrived  in  Belgium 
in  pursuit  of  Neil's  step-brother. 

This  energetic  little  lawyer,  however,  had  been 
much  disturbed  in  mind.  After  a  most  unpleasant 
journey,  he  had  arrived  at  Shiachan,  to  find  Darroch's 
house  a  smouldering  mass  of  ruins,  and  a  very  strange 
story  going  the  round  of  the  fishermen. 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS  303 

'  Preposterous !'  Mr.  Quill  had  said,  jerking  with 
both  hands  at  the  collar  of  his  bottle-green  coat ;  but 
that  did  not  help  him  much. 

There  was  no  Geoffrey  Darroch  to  be  found,  Neil 
Darroch  had  vanished,  and  yet  Mr.  Quill  had  a  con- 
siderable amount  of  business  to  arrange ;  for  the  old 
Jacobite  had  been  miserly,  in  addition  to  his  other 
virtues,  and  had  left  his  younger  grandson  a  very  fair 
sum  of  money,  obtained,  as  Mr.  Quill  remarked 
jocosely  and  in  strict  confidence  to  Mrs.  Quill,  by  the 
sweat  of  other  men's  brows. 

In  whatever  way  it  was  amassed,  it  was  yet  Mr. 
Quill's  duty  to  find  the  heir ;  and  being  an  elder  of 
the  kirk  and  exceedingly  conscientious,  and  being, 
moreover,  in  need  of  a  change  of  air  after  his  illness, 
he  forthwith  set  off  for  London,  whither  he  found, 
after  much  anxious  inquiry  at  Portroy  and  elsewhere, 
Geoffrey  Darroch  had  betaken  himself.  Mr.  Quill 
was  dry  and  brown,  like  the  sherry  which  was  his 
favourite  tipple,  but  he  had  the  essence  of  a  first- 
rate  detective  in  him.  Although,  being  well  versed 
in  his  Bible,  he  knew  to  what  extremes  of  wickedness 
a  man  may  venture,  and  with  what  interest  his  sins 
may  recoil  upon  his  head,  he  was  yet  considerably 
shocked  to  learn  of  Geoffrey  Darroch's  miserable 
excesses. 

He  traced  him,  step  by  step,  to  his  enlistment  in 
the  Royal  Scots  Greys,  and  his  departure  with  that 
regiment  for  the  seat  of  war.  Then  Mr.  Quill  pro- 
ceeded to  cross  the  Channel  for  the  last  time,  as  he 
told  himself  when  half-way  to  Dunkirk,  till  he  remem- 
bered it  would  be  again  necessary  to  face  the  sea,  and 
probably  in  a  double  sense,  if  Mrs.  Quill  and  the 
young  Quills  were  ever  to  be  transported  with  joy  by 
the  sight  of  his  pepper-and-salt  whiskers.  Where- 
upon Benjamin  Quill  groaned,  and  resigned  himself 
to  the  inevitable. 

A  man  lay  in  a  crowded  hospital  in  Brussels  who 
was  a  puzzle  to  many  people.  He  puzzled  the 


304         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

surgeons  by  recovering  in  spite  of  their  assurances  to 
the  contrary ;  he  had  puzzled  the  orderlies  by  the  fact 
that,  though  wearing  a  badly  fitting  uniform  of  the 
92nd  Highlanders,  his  boots  were  those  of  a  French 
infantryman.  He  puzzled  those  who  nursed  him  by 
raving  constantly  in  French,  with  the  exception  of 
the  repeated  utterance  in  English  of  a  few  names, 
amongst  them  a  woman's.  Still  more  he  puzzled  the 
surviving  sergeants  and  corporals  of  the  Gordons, 
who,  at  the  time  he  was  found  lying  across  the  dead 
body  of  Trooper  Darroch  of  the  Greys,  one  and  all 
vowed  that  he  was  not  on  the  roll-call  of  the  regiment. 
Some  regarded  him  as  a  deserter  from  the  French 
lines,  but  none  knew  anything  for  certain  till  he 
came  to  his  senses,  weak  as  a  babe,  but  out  of 
danger. 

Then  the  kindly  Bible-reader,  bit  by  bit,  got  his 
story  from  him,  and  was  more  than  astonished.  His 
Scotch  grew  broader  and  broader  as  he  asked  question 
after  question,  and  he  finally  shocked  himself  by 
making  use  of  some  very  strong  language.  He  was 
shocked,  but  much  relieved.  Then  he  set  himself  to 
work  to  comfort  this  sufferer,  who,  he  saw,  was  a  strong 
man  broken,  in  whom  he  discerned  a  proud  spirit 
crushed.  And  his  efforts  were  not  unsuccessful, 
though  for  a  time  Neil  Darroch  was  full  of  remorse. 

'  There  is  no  pardon  for  me,'  he  said.  '  I  harboured 
vengeance  to  the  very  end.' 

'Hoots!'  rejoined  the  other;  'ye're  haverin,  man. 
I'm  telt  ye  carried  this  same  scoondrel  o'  a  step- 
brither  to  the  rear  on  your  back,  and  they  say  ye 
stood  ower  him  wi'  the  bayonet  fixed,  till  ye  couldna 
stand  ony  mair.  If  that's  no  gude  for  evil,  what  is, 
sir,  I  wad  like  to  ken  ?' 

And  then  came  the  confession.  It  had  been  done 
to  save  Geoffrey  for  another  meeting. 

'  Then,  thank  God  !  it  canna  be,'  said  the  old  reader, 
and  neither  blamed  nor  excused,  for  he  knew  that 
the  gaunt,  bloodless  man  before  him  had  not  been  in 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS  305 

his  right  mind  for  many  a  day.     But  he  had  no  fear 
for  his  reason  now. 

What  pained  him  was  to  see  that  Neil  Darroch, 
having  struggled  back  to  saneness  and  some  measure 
of  health,  made  no  further  effort.  He  lay  dreamily 
on  his  back,  languid  and  without  desire. 

Therefore,  when  the  reader  learned  that  a  most 
inquisitive  little  man  had  been  making  inquiries  after 
Trooper  Darroch,  who  lay  under  the  sod  on  the 
battle-field,  he  went  with  all  haste  to  the  hotel  at 
which  Mr.  Quill  resided,  and  caught  the  worthy 
solicitor  on  the  eve  of  departure. 

'  Preposterous  !'  the  latter  exclaimed  when  he  heard 
the  tale,  but  would  have  gone  to  see  the  patient  at 
once  had  he  not  been  absolutely  forbidden  to  go  near 
him  for  a  week. 

'A  sudden  shock  might  finish  him,'  said  the  sur- 
geon ;  and  though  Mr.  Quill,  having  heard  the 
reader's  story,  did  not  believe  much  in  the  surgeon, 
he  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  obey. 

In  the  meantime  there  arrived  in  Brussels  another 
lawyer,  with  a  lady  in  his  company — a  girl  with  a  very 
fair  but  a  very  sad  face.  Kate  Ingleby  had  not  gone 
hither  and  thither  amongst  the  retreating  French 
troops  for  nothing.  The  scenes  she  witnessed  were 
to  be  graven  in  her  memory  for  ever. 

But  she  found  no  trace  of  Neil  Darroch.  At  last, 
in  despair,  she  journeyed  to  Brussels,  and  began 
making  inquiries  amongst  the  numerous  French 
wounded  and  amongst  the  prisoners. 

While  she  did  so  she  stayed  at  the  hotel  to  which 
Mr.  Quill  had  extended  his  patronage,  and  along  with 
not  a  few  he  became  interested  in  the  beautiful 
American. 

When  he  heard  Kate  Ingleby's  mission — she  made 
no  secret  of  it — his  surprise  may  be  imagined. 

'  Preposterous  !'  he  exclaimed,  with  such  a  jerk  that 
his  coat-collar  gave  way  at  the  back  and  he  well-nigh 
forgot  his  eldership. 
20 


306         VENGEANCE  IS  MINE 

It  did  not  take  long  to  exchange  confidences,  and 
then  Mr.  Quill,  his  face  radiant,  his  coat  mended  by 
Kate  Ingleby  herself,  much  to  her  notary's  disgust, 
went  off  to  inform  the  Bible-reader.  That  kindly  old 
man  breathed  a  prayer  of  thankfulness  and  gave  the 
surgeon  a  bit  of  his  mind.  As  a  result,  it  was  Mr. 
Quill's  turn  to  be  disgusted ;  for  the  American  girl 
was  admitted  to  see  Mr.  Darroch  even  before  his  legal 
adviser. 

'  Preposterous !'  said  Mr.  Quill,  but  very  mildly, 
and  wiped  his  spectacles.  He  explained  to  the 
French  notary  in  what  he  took  to  be  French  that  it 
was  wonderful  how  moisture  deposited  upon  glass  in 
the  heat  of  a  Continental  summer,  and  the  notary 
bowed,  as  wise  as  he  had  been  before. 

The  old  Scotchman  had  prepared  his  patient  for 
the  interview,  and  had  seen  the  momentary  gleam  in 
his  eyes,  the  flush  come  to  his  cheek.  But  when  the 
girl  entered,  eager,  trembling,  Neil  Darroch  lay  calm 
and  impassive.  He  was  making  a  last  effort  to  be 
like  his  old  self. 

'  You  are  better?'  she  said  softly.  '  You  will  get 
well?' 

'  Hoots,  ay  1'  said  the  Bible-reader,  and  discreetly 
withdrew. 

'  Maybe,'  said  Neil,  and  she  noticed  how  weak  was 
his  voice — '  maybe ;  but  I  have  not  much  to  live  for.1 

'  That  is  not  true,'  said  Kate. 

He  looked  at  her  with  dull  eyes,  in  which,  however, 
there  was  a  question. 

'  Yes,'  she  answered  gaily,  though  God  knows  her 
heart  was  sad  at  sight  of  him,  { though  you  may  do 
things  unintentionally,  I  guess  I  do  not.  I  came  here 
to  find  you,  and  I  have  found  you,  and  I  am  not  going 
to  lose  you  now.' 

'  Kate  !'  he  said  hoarsely — '  Miss  Ingleby  I  mean- 
it  cannot  be.  Do  you  know  I  have  been  flogged  with 
the  cat,  that  it  was  my  bullet  which  struck  down 
Gironde — unintentionally,  it  is  true,  but  none  the 


AFTER  MANY  DAYS  307 

less  mine  ?  Do  you  know  that  I  have  fought  against 
my  own  folk,  that  I  have  been  a  traitor,  that  I  am  an 
outcast  ?' 

'  Yes,  yes,'  she  said  ;  '  I  know  all  there  is  to  know, 
and  this  is  my  answer.' 

She  bent  over  him  and  kissed  him  on  the  forehead. 

His  thin  hand  lying  on  the  sheet  trembled,  but  his 
mouth  was  still  stern. 

'  It  may  not  be,'  he  said. 

'  What  is  your  reason  now,  most  quibbling  of  men  ?' 
she  asked,  with  a  merry  laugh. 

He  was  yielding ;  she  saw  it,  she  knew  it. 

'  Do  you  think,'  he  said  slowly  and  painfully,  '  that 
I  could  do  so  mean  a  thing  as  this  ?  You  are  rich 
again,  I  am  a  beggar ;  you  are ' 

*  Is  that  all  ?'  she  interposed  ;  '  tell  me  truly,  is  that 
all?' 

'  I  suppose  so,'  he  answered,  '  but  it  is  enough.' 

'  Is  it,  though  ?'  she  said  lightly,  and  rising,  opened 
the  door,  looked  out  into  the  passage,  and  beckoned 
with  her  finger. 

There  entered  Mr.  Quill 


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